#I figure that reveal could either be the next part of this thread or the next thread in regards to linear story. Whichever vibes <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[gguk-n]

Chapter 3- The Reveal

Unravelling Max's Mystery (Max Verstappen x Online Friend!Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Y/N gets rejected for the sixth time. Max win's the Monaco grand prix 2023. Y/N decides she needs time for herself.

No hate to anyone, it's for the story

{Reader's POV}

I fell asleep crying, a faint buzzing from my phone was heard from the other room. I woke up after a few hours at 3 am when I found my phone which was burning up. The messages hadn't stop coming. They had gotten quite frantic as I scrolled through my notifications. I decided to reply to Max's messages.

He was still the guy I liked, I couldn't not reply. But I was hurt and in no shape to be talking to him. I don't know what Max said after my message because my phone shut down. I pushed myself to clean myself up and my surrounding. I was a stress cleaner and I'm so grateful to having 2 jobs right now. It meant my mind would be preoccupied. I cleaned my whole house before leaving for school in the morning. My eyes were red and puffy; I was on coffee. I had yet to switch my phone on. I wasn't ready to face Max yet.

Today was the worst day, not only because of last night's revelation but I had the least amount of classes today. None of the kids needed help after class either. That meant I was left to my own devices. When I switched the phone on, I could see missed calls and texts from Max and a couple voice messages; from the night before and today morning I guess. I opened up Google to check his schedule; he was in Monaco, which was also his home currently. I found out a lot about him, you think you know someone but then Google tells you otherwise. His dad was as shitty as he described. His records and feats were astonishing and if I wasn't this angry at him for hiding it from me, I would've been so proud and told him so. His Instagram feed was pretty and polished and he posted so much racing content. I found his streaming account with a team, he was exactly like the Max that called me everyday with occasional appearances from the cats on stream. People spoke so rudely about Max, it angered me to no end. He was a kind man, a liar but a sweet man.

The real kicker was Max's girlfriend's account where I found so many pictures of them together with her daughter, from what I found out. He looked happy, he had a family like he always said he wanted. I couldn't help but smile bitterly, a part of me wished that it was me who was the woman beside him with our kid. Life is cruel in some ways, mine is satire at best. Here, I can't date a man because I'm hung up on a guy I've never met before while said man has a family. I felt tears streaming down my face which I quickly wiped them off. I had enough of pity and sympathy stares since the morning to last a lifetime, I can't deal with any more of them.

I knew I wanted to talk to Max, the only guy who has ever understood me, however, I also knew that if we spoke I wouldn't be listening to him. I was scared I would lose the one true friend I have. Would Max understand where I was coming from? Why did he hide this from me? Did he not trust me enough? I get it, but you are a public figure. I don't know how to feel about all of this. It was the weekend tomorrow. I would be left with my thoughts and I probably shouldn't confront Max before his race on Sunday, right?

I spent the next two days planning how I would talk to Max. How I would ask him why he hid everything from me? I didn't want to fight him; my parents always said I was rude and difficult to work with, that my anger consumed me, that my words were harsh. I wasn't supposed to show such negative emotions they said. I didn't want to lose him; but was I allowed to hold on to him when he never let me have him?

Max called and texted me every day but I was very scared, scared of becoming the monster my parents said I was, sacred of hurting the one I love. There I said it, said Max and love in the same sentence. I had threaded that line so carefully but after all of this, I realised that I've loved him for years and watching him be happy with some else hurt as much as knowing that I never truly knew Max. It was Sunday night, I checked the news and saw that Max won. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to rejoice watching the man I love win at what he was best at or be hurt watching him live a life I knew nothing about.

I texted him at night on Sunday, maybe he would be busy celebrating his win, I didn't know. I didn't know a lot of things. As I waited for the text back, I logged on to my emails that I had forgotten about to find a reply from the publication I had sent my work to; to be met with dismay. Another rejection, I'm not sure how many more rejections I could take. My hands shook, making the laptop fall from my lap onto the bed. I got up and got myself a glass of water.

I laid on my bed for god knows how long before the familiar ring of my phone pulled me out of my trance. I had taken the day off tomorrow. I knew I didn't have the mental or emotional capacity to deal with anything. I answered the call to a worried Max.

Max- Schat, how have you been? Haven't heard a word from you in days. Y/N- I've been busy, school year ending and stuff. Why didn't you sleep yet? Max- You know my sleep schedule is non existent. Y/N- Yeah, I guess I do. Max looked at me confused. Y/N- You know how I do freelance editing Max- You've told me about it Y/N- The latest author I'm working with is a sports author. I was hoping you could help me since you are a walking encycylopedia. Max- sure schat, but what's up with you? You know I'm always there for you Y/N- Yeah it nothing, just stressed. Max- Take off, you deserve it Y/N- The summer break is here soon, I'll be fine. So about that author... Max-Yeah, what sport does she write for? Y/N- Formula One. I don't really like reading lengthy articles and I'm sure one article wouldn't do a sport any justice. I could see the colour leave Max's face. He licked his lips before speaking. Max- You did not go through google yet, right? Y/N- Oh no, what do you take me for? I got excited to learn about something new. Do you know who the reigning champion is? Max was quite, a sort of uncomfortable silence had enveloped us, for the first time in 10 years. Y/N- Some dude named Max Verstappen. You guys share the same first name. He has 2 cats too; named Jimmy and Sassy, who look exactly like your bengals. I mean he even looks like you, with horrible sleep schedule just like you. He even sounds like you. I felt my voice begin to crack while I spoke, the lump in my throat unbearably big, my breathing was uneven. Max- Schatje, I can explain. Y/N- You don't have to Max. I never asked you what you did. You don't have to explain anything. (I smiled with only my lips) Max- I wanted to tell you, it just never came up in conversation. Y/N- I get it, it's difficult to tell your friend who has amounted to nothing that you are the World Driver's Champion, best of the best in Formula One. Max- Y/N, it's nothing like that. You're great, you're kind, you're funny. I laughed bitterly. Y/N- Those are character traits I possess, they don't describe my career goals or achievements. I know I work 2 jobs to stay afloat while you make millions, I know I wish I was an author and not their editor, I know you probably thought I was too stupid to understand your rich and fancy world. Max- No, no, you're so talented. I've read your work and I'm sure the right publication will pick your work up. Y/N- I got rejected for the sixth time today. All of this is fine except that you lied to me about being single while having a girlfriend for years and having the happy family you dreamt off. You didn't have to introduce me to her; not like my boyfriends met you. But it would've been nice if I knew. Max- It just never came up. Y/N- I...we joked about setting you up with someone all the time. Please don't. I get it, we didn't tell each other about work goals or what we did as a job but personal life; I literally told you about every guy I've ever been with. I felt bad telling you thinking you were single. I feel stupid right now. I had tears streaming down my face at this point. Max- I'm sorry,Y/N. I promise I won't hide anything anymore. Please, don't cry. Y/N- My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I majored in literature in Uni and now work as a primary school teacher and freelance editor. I'm trying to get my book published soon. I broke up with my boyfriend 2 months ago. Max- Please don't do this. Y/N- I believe at least one of us should be honest. Max- Let me fix this. Y/N- Don't worry. There's nothing to fix. (I wiped away my tears) Max- Please don't say that. You mean a lot me. Y/N- Me too. That's why, I need time. I'll talk to you when I'm ready. Max- Please, I can't lose you. Y/N- You won't. I'll always be there for you. I just need time. Take care Max I saw tears streaming down Max's face. Max- Bye, take care Y/N. I'll always be here. And then the screen went black.

[Max spent the whole week worrying about Y/N. He couldn't think straight. This was weird, she was never this busy before. It was stressing him out, he couldn't eat or sleep. He never even thought about the fact that maybe his lie had been exposed. When Y/N texted him, he was at a club in Monaco with the other drivers to celebrate his win. He only saw it after he got back home and immediately called her. She looked different, there was this sadness in her eyes. The smile didn't reach her eyes. And then she started talking, his heart was beating very fast. The moment she said Formula One, his whole world came crashing down. The more she spoke the more he felt like he was falling deeper, in a pit of his own making. He wanted to tell her, he wanted to explain himself but no words left his mouth. Then she started talking about his girlfriend. He felt like this was the last time he would get to talk to her, the last time he would hear her voice. This felt like the last time he would have her]

[thiefofcrows]

   There was the slightest hint of surprise at Matt’s denial for a bural, but mostly something else surged inside of him — pride. It was clear from what he’d chosen to share that they’d manipulated him severely, kept him in the dark about their more sinister dealings. Such a detail only heightened his suspicion that there was something else going on beneath the surface, something deeper. If Matt were just one of their soldiers, why would they go through so much trouble to deceive him?  How did they know that he wouldn’t take kindly to slavery, to experimentation?  What would it matter, really, if he did if he wasn’t anyone important?

   If Kaz was right, — and he usually was — Matt could prove to be incredibly useful in the pursuit of taking the clan down, discerning their habits, their weaknesses. It wasn’t exactly the missing puzzle piece, but it was the beginnings of it, something that was slowly taking shape within his minds eye.

   Of course, it would also be risky to have someone the Black Dragons wanted to take back alive at any cost, but … Kaz had already suspected that risk the moment he’d realized Matt had been running from something, or someone. Initially, he’d only been willing to take that risk because of how incredibly useful his skillset could prove to be. Now, however … now there was something brewing between them, something that Kaz could not inwardly deny, no matter how much he wished he could.

   His stubborn heart cared about him and only now was he beginning to understand that it would inevitably progress into something much deeper. We can’t just leave them to the wolves; before the Ice Court Heist, before their defeat of Van Eck and Pekka Rollins, Kaz may have considered doing just that. Dirtyhands was known for being ruthless, for not letting anyone near him, for doing whatever job needed doing for the right price.

   He knew now, however, more than ever that he was stronger when he did let the right people in. Both himself and his gang were stronger because they did not turn on one another. Your gang was your family and, while Matt had lost whatever connections he’d made in his clan, he’d gained something stronger; people who would have his back regardless of what it may cost them.

   Thus, when he caught that glint in Matt’s eye, he knew what the answer would be before he spoke the words. That crooked smirk of his bloomed across Kaz’s features and he cocked his head to the side, dark brows lifting. ❝Brick by brick,❞ he said, more to himself than to Matt, but it was an agreement nonetheless. Then his gaze swept down to regard the bodies — he felt the sickening twist in his stomach, the flicker of anxiety. Kaz swallowed thickly before inclining his head towards them then meeting Matt's eye. ❝But, first thing's first.❞

 Nothing followed. No doubt, no probing, no further questions. It felt odd, almost wrong for Kaz not to inquire any further. Matt might be naive to a certain degree, but he wasn't naive enough to believe that the other didn't at least have a hunch that there was more to his story. Kaz was unusually perceptive and probably the smartest person Matt had ever met, and they'd established fairly early on that it was impossible for him to keep anything properly secret.

 But... Whatever Kaz's reasons were, Matt was grateful. He was slowly starting to trust Brekker, was starting to feel somewhat comfortable, perhaps even something like safe in his new life. But he knew that there was a chance that could change as soon as Kaz learned that he wasn't just dealing with a simple foot soldier, but the leader's own grandson. That put him in a whole different realm of risk, and there was a good chance he'd consider that to be more trouble than Matt was worth. Grisha, or not.

 When he was given the option to bury the men, Matt hesitated for a long moment. His first instinct was to say yes; they deserved that much, at least. But then he started to reconsider. Did they deserve a proper burial? They hadn't hesitated to turn on him. Hadn't hesitated to hunt him down, regardless of how long they'd known him, how much they'd fought together. He owed them nothing. And, above all, if he truly intended to leave Liu Long Zhi in the past, then he had to do the same with any residual feelings he might have for anyone. 

 "No," he finally said, shifting his gaze from the bodies back to Kaz. "The Reaper's Barge will do." Matt did pick up on the brief change in Kaz's voice as he mentioned the Barge, and it was his turn to wonder if there was more behind it. But... This was neither the time, nor the place, and, quite frankly, none of his business. Was he curious? Of course. Unlike Kaz, however, Matt wasn't obsessed with solving puzzles — or people. 

 Making his way over to the bodies, he was about to move them into one pile in order to make it easier for himself to move them all in one go. Using his powers one last time before letting them lie dormant again wouldn't hurt, right? But Kaz's words made him stop right before moving the first body, and his hands dropped back to his sides instead. 

 Of course, they had contacts here. Matt knew that. Why in the world hadn't he thought of that? He'd spent so much time and effort on remaining hidden, on remaining unseen, when he should've spent it on getting rid of the leak. If his grandfather had no one to report Matt's movements back to him, he was as good as blind. And now... Now he had friends. A warmth spread inside of him, the warmth of realization that he was no longer alone. Then he grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

 "Let's get rid of your thorn then."

[imagines--galore]

||The Thread of Fate|| Part Twenty-Eight

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen, Part Twenty, Part Twenty-One, Part Twenty-Two, Twenty-Three, Twenty Four, Twenty-Five, Twenty-Six, Twenty-Seven

A/N: This was a roller coaster of emotions let me tell you!

"Well it looks healed enough. But it will leave a scar." Katara stated as she straightened up from examining Orora's burn. The older girl sighed before nodding at the sympathetic look she received from the other girl.

"I figured as much." She muttered, sitting up from where she had been lying on the bed. Toph sat across from her on another bed, while Sokka and Aang stood at the doorway, leaning against either of the wall. "Its better if you share with Toph for now." Katara added to which the blind girl nodded.

Her feet were still elevated. "I don't mind. Means Ice Princess can give me healing sessions and I'll be up and seeing in no time." She raised a hand in Katara's direction. "No offense Sugar Queen, but when it comes to healing Orora here is more of an expert."

Katara shrugged. "No, I agree with you. She has been doing this a lot longer then I am." Orora smiled at the compliment, before her eyes shifted towards Sokka who was frowning, as if he were deep in thought.

"You alright there Sokka?" She said, startling the boy out of his stupor. "If you think any harder you're gonna hurt yourself." Though everyone smiled or chuckled lightly at the joke, Sokka didn't join in. Pursing his lips he contemplated briefly if he should speak his mind before doing just that. "No, I was just wandering if you'll be alright."

Orora frowned though a smile of confusion stayed on her face. "I'll be alright. You heard Katara, all these wounds will heal and-"

Aang stepped forward, cutting her off. "That is not what he means Orora." The boy glanced at Sokka who nodded before continuing. "He means Zuko."

The smile fell from her lips, her eyes casting down to the ground. Her hands rested just next to her thighs, allowing her to gently grip the soft bedding underneath. "What we're asking is," Aang continued, ignoring the way Katara's face turned especially dark at hearing the name of their new team member. "Are you alright with him joining our team? We know how much his betrayal effected you, and we don't want you to feel weird about the whole situation."

Toph nodded. "Yeah, say the word and I'll throw him off the nearest cliff and make it look like an accident." Though her words were spoken in jest, Orora couldn't help but flinch as her mind conjured the image of him doing just that not even an hour ago.

Her heart and mind still couldn't comprehend just how easily he could've died.

Something she could examine later, the waterbender promised herself, as she lifted her head to look at each of her friends one at a time.

"Truthfully, I'm not thrilled that he's here." She revealed. "I'm still mad at him for what he did, and I guess I will be until he's proven himself. I don't know." She shook her head, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts.

Her gaze met Aang's. "You need to learn firebending to defeat the Fire Lord, and having Zuko on our side is a tactical advantage as well." She had to look at all of this in a pragmatic way. Keep her feelings out of it, that was the best course of plan.

"If Zuko's being here means we have a chance to end this war, then I am not going to let what he did to me get in the way of that."

Silence followed her words, before Toph grinned. "See, I told you she would say that." Orora looked at her in confusion, but was distracted by Aang reaching out and placing a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you Orora." He said, smiling at her.

The older girl smiled back, reaching up to squeeze his hand in return. Katara simply gave a nod before walking out of the room. Sokka watched his sister go before looking back at Orora's worried expression. "Don't worry. She'll be fine." He reassured her.

Then he grinned and walked to her to lightly punch her shoulder. "Its great to have you back Orora."

She nodded, returning his smile. "Good to be back."

                                            ————————–

Since she was still recovering, Orora was put on bed rest.

Per her own orders.

Toph was forced to do the same, yet neither of the girls were complaining. It gave them time to catch up and just chat. Sokka had come by earlier and dropped off Orora's things, which she was currently going through.

Since the area around her stomach and waist had to be cut and was also burned off, she had to stitch it up. And already an idea to sew a waistband to cover herself up was forming in her head. Luckily she still had some cloth leftover from creating the lining of her shirt. It was a light blue so it should be good enough. Cutting the fabric to the length she wanted it to be, Orora listened as Toph explained what had happened after their return to the main Invasion Force.

"Then they piled us kids on Appa and we came here. Nothing much to tell." The blind girl concluded, playing with her space rock as she laid back on her bed, one arm behind her head. "Not as interesting as what happened to you I should say."

Orora shook her head as she threaded a needle. "I was wandering when you'd ask that." She muttered under her breath, though loud enough for Toph to hear her. "Oh come on, you're telling me nothing happened?" She asked, curiosity lacing her tone.

Successfully pulling the needle through the small hole, Orora began to sew. "Other then him bandaging me up and bringing me here? No, nothing at all."

Toph laughed softly as she shook her head. "You know I can tell when people are lying right?" She stated gleefully.

Orora stabbed herself with her needle.

                                            ————————–

Having gotten all of his stuff and a room assigned to him, Zuko turned his attention to the water skins and belt Orora had left behind. No time like the present to bring it to her then, he thought to himself, picking up her things and walking out of his room. It was still light out, but the evening was fast approaching.

Locating where Orora was staying was easy. He just had to follow his string. It was always taut now that they were almost constantly near one another.

"-ave you told him yet?" He heard Orora's voice as he neared the room.

"I haven't exactly had the time. Between getting our butts kicked and worrying about you, I didn't think it was appropriate to drop the bomb on him about us being soulmates." Zuko paused. Maybe this wasn't the right time to disturb them.

But then he didn't walk away either.

Instead he stopped where he was, just a few steps away from the open doorway, leaning against the wall so even his shadow couldn't be seen. He was lucky Toph couldn't feel him standing there.

"Well, you're not getting your butt kicked now, and I'm back, safe and sound, so you better get to it young lady."

He heard Toph snort. "What're you my mother?"

"Would you rather Katara be on your case then?" Zuko could picture the look Orora was giving the earthbender when she said that.

Silence.

"Alright, you have a point. But can't he come up and talk to me about it?"

"Toph, he's probably just shy. One of you has to take the first step, and I'm urging that you do." He heard Orora respond.

"Is that what happened with you and Zuko?" The sudden shift in conversation nearly had him dropping what he was holding. "My situation with Zuko was complicated. Trust me, you're getting a very simple story to finding your soulmate, so take it."

The word complicated couldn't even begin to describe how strange their soulmate journey had been so far, Zuko thought to himself, frowning to himself.

"You get two stories though don't you?" Toph said. "And in both those stories he saves you."

"I saved him once too." Orora cut in, and Zuko briefly recalled how she had pulled him out of the way to avoid getting burned by the lightning during the storm on top of that mountain all those months. "But, hey who's counting." He heard Orora sigh. "Toph just, ask what you want to ask." She said a hint of exasperation in her tone that anyone could've picked up on.

"I'm just wandering how your story is going to end, that's all."

Zuko felt himself freeze. His eyes widened and he felt his heart give a particularly painful thump before it resumed it's normal rhythm. No one spoke from within the room for a good few seconds.

But then he heard Orora.

"I don't know."

"Have you forgiven him for what he did?"

Agni, he knew how this conversation was going to go. Placing the water skins and belt on the floor to be collected by Orora later, he turned.

And with a heavy heart, he walked back to his room.

Completely missing the rest of the conversation.

                                            ————————–

"No. At least, not completely."

"And will you forgive him? Given time, as he proves himself and helps us?

"I....don't know."

                                            ————————–

Once the bandage was in place, Orora tied the waist belt she had sewn the previous night, around her waist. The material ruched naturally once she tied it at the side of her waist, the one that wasn't bandaged of course.

Glancing at Toph and smiling at the girl as she snored away, Orora rose to her feet, intent on starting the day and ask Katara what are duties would be around the camp. It was best if she kept busy, she mused to herself, slipping her shoes onto her feet. Once everything was in order she moved to step out of the room.

Only to step on something.

Looking down she was met with the familiar sight of her belt and water skins. Frowning she picked them up. There was really no need to wander who had left them there.

Zuko.

Why hadn't he come in and given them to her?

More importantly, why did it bother her that he hadn't given them to her himself?

Shaking her head and briefly stepping back into her room to toss the items on her just made bed, the girl pushed the thought to the back of her mind.

                                            ————————–

Katara and her were the first ones to arrive. The younger girl insisted that she could handle breakfast, forcing Orora to just sit down and relax, while also wait for the others to appear.

And they did.

Teo wheeled in first, grinning at Orora and waving at her. The older girl waved back. Next to step in was Aang, who rubbed his eyes, yawning as he slumped on the floor beside Orora.

And promptly fell against her shoulder as he fell asleep again, snoring lightly with Momo curling up in his lap.

The older girl smiled down at Aang while Katara shook her head at her soulmate's antics. Haru and The Duke were next to walk in. Both of them greeted everyone before taking their place in the circle as well, with Haru sitting next to Orora.

Appa growled from where he waited for his breakfast just beyond the clearing where they sat, prompting The Duke to leave his post of helping Katara hand out bowls of rice and make sure Appa had his hay. Sokka finally arrived carrying Toph. He set her down on a broken column before taking his bowl of rice and began shoveling the food down his throat.

The last one to arrive was Zuko.

Which was funny since he was the first one away, what with the tendency to rise with the sun and all.

She'd picked up on his habits as well as his Uncle during their stay in Ba Sing Se.

He accepted his breakfast bowl from The Duke and once he sat down on Aang's other side, began to eat. Orora kept her gaze trained towards her bowl of rice, her chopsticks held firmly in between her fingers as she did.

"So, what do you think?"

A voice drifted through her train of thought muffled and yet it pulled her back from whatever she had just begun to think. Raising her head, she blinked at Haru who was looking at her and smiling.

"Sorry, I wasn't listening. About what?" The earthbender smile before repeating himself. "I just asked if you'd like a tour of the Temple. We've found some pretty cool things."

"Oh." She paused, looking at him before glancing back at her food and cleared her throat. "That sounds fun. Maybe later?" She suggested to which Haru nodded, prompting Teo to speak up from where he had just finished his breakfast. "This is an amazing Temple! Better then the one we lived in. The Duke just found something really fun yesterday, and we can't wait to show you."

                                            ————————–

From where he sat next to Zuko, Sokka had a pretty good view of what was going on.

And this is what he noticed.

He noticed how Orora's smile appeared strained, as if she were forcing her muscles to pull upwards.

He noticed how Haru's shoulders slumped, probably at the thought that his plan to show Orora around alone had just fallen through since Teo and The Duke would want to tag along as well.

He also noticed, how Zuko's expression was set in a dark scowl. One that was directing towards Haru.

Sokka may be oblivious at times, but there were some things he was rather observant in. And when it came to all three of his sisters, he was ever watchful.

Even though Katara had made no mention of it, he knew Aang was her soulmate. She would tell him when she thought right. Besides Katara was one stubborn and willful girl, and he knew she could handle things on her own.

Toph was a little tough to read. HA! See what he did there? But he liked to think he understood her now more then he had at the beginning. He had suspicions about who her soulmate was, and he had plans on talking to The Duke about it and ask him what he planned to do.

Orora was a completely different story. He looked at the older girl and pursed his lips in thought. There was so much going on with her, and Sokka was worried because she hadn't let all those emotions out yet. And when that dam broke, Sokka knew there were going to be casualties.

The major one of whom would be Orora herself.

He just hoped he had the chance to talk to her before that happened.

Worried eyes jumped from Orora, who was still focused on her breakfast, to Zuko who was now shaking Aang awake and telling him to finish breakfast before they started training.

And maybe he should speak to Zuko about Orora soon too.

                                            ————————–

"Hey Orora? Mind if I ask you something?"

Looking up from where she had just finished giving Toph a healing session, Orora smiled at Aang. "Sure." Pulling back the water and tossing it aside because she had just been healing feet with it, she walked after Aang to stand a little ways away from the rest oft he group.

"So, you know its my first day of training firebending right?" He said, clutching his staff and looking nervous. Orora nodded. "Well," He rubbed the back of his head. "I was comfortable with Katara and Toph because I knew the kind of teachers they would be, but with Zuko I don't know anything."

She stayed quiet. "And well, you've known him the longest out of all of us, and I was just wandering if you could tell me what I should expect, just so I'm prepared." He ended, looking at her so hopeful and anxious that she sighed, closing her eyes briefly as she did.

"Well, don't expect him to be patient with you." She finally said after a small stretch of silence. Her eyes glanced at Zuko who was helping Toph down from the column so she could test her feet a little. "And he won't let up until you've perfected whatever form he is teaching you so be prepared for a lot of hard work."

Aang's entire body hung as he sighed. "This is gonna be hard." He stated dismally as Orora reached out to pat his back in a reassuring manner. "You're a talented kid, Aang. You'll get the hang of it." She smiled at him, before her gaze faltered towards Zuko once more.

Only to catch him looking at her.

She watched as his eyes widened, as did her own. Both of them quickly looked away, but not before their eyes met.

Not before the colors on their strings flared before settling into a more light hue or blue and red.

And certainly not before Toph picked up on how their heart beats picked up just then.

"I hope you're right." Aang muttered, oblivious to the inner turmoil Orora was feeling in that moment. Orora patted his back one more time. "Just mind your breath. That's what Master Iroh always told me." She said, smiling at him. It took him a moment before he too smiled and nodded.

"You ready?" Zuko's voice had her glancing up at him before stepping away from Aang, who nodded with a determined expression. "I'm ready. Lead the way Sifu Hotman."

That was certainly not what she had been expecting Aang to say.

Add that to the expression on Zuko's face and she could barely keep a small laugh from escaping her. Aang grinned at her, proud to have made her laugh, while Zuko's eyes darted in her direction before quickly looking away.

"Don't call me that." He stated, his tone annoyed as he began to lead the way towards wherever they would be training.

Aang skipped after him. "Understood Sifu Hotman."

"What did I just say!?"

                                            ————————–

This was getting to be frustrating as well as humiliating.

With another loud grunt, Zuko tried to create a fireball. Only to fail.

Again.

Why couldn't he get it right? He'd always been able to produce powerful flames no matter what. He paused in his actions, looking in Aang's direction who was laying atop the column he was perched on, looking at the clouds overhead.

Movement to his right had Zuko turning to the spot, only to catch sight of Sokka as he sat down near them. Aang sat up as well, gazing curiously at the watertribe boy.

"Hey, jerks!" Sokka said through a mouthful of apple. "Mind if I watch you two jerks do your jerkbending?" He asked with a snicker.

Already frustrated, Zuko was quick to snap at him. "Get out of here!" He shouted, pointing to the way from where Sokka had just come form.

Sokka held up his hands, his mouth opening to say something.

"Sokka!" His mouth snapped shut, his eyes widened and sheer panic overtook his face as he glanced in the direction from where the shout had just come from. "I wasn't here!" He squeaked out in fear, before racing off as if a dragon was at his heels.

Just in time too, because Orora suddenly rounded the corner. "Where is he?" She demanded to know, her ice blue eyes glaring first at Zuko then Aang. Both boys were quick to raise their arms to point in the direction where Sokka had disappeared to.

"Sokka when I get my hands on you, you better pray to the Moon I don't break your arm for dumping your dirty laundry on me!" And she was off, her voice getting lower and lower as she walked further away, yet closer to her target.

Leaving Aang and Zuko to stare after her, wide-eyed and a little scared. "Maybe we should ask Orora for some of her fire?" Aang joked to which Zuko dropped his head in dejection.

                                            ————————–

After nearly breaking Sokka's arm, and only letting go when he promised he would do all of her clean up duty for the rest of the day, Orora went about her day as normally as she could.

She chatted with Toph for a good hour before walking off with Haru, Teo and The Duke to explore the Temple. And Orora had to admit, it truly was a work of art. She'd have to ask Aang to give her a tour soon, just so she could ask him about the history of the place. He may not have lived there, but he had visited the place when it was bursting with life. Now it sat empty and hollow. And that was sad.

Once they all returned for lunch, she was quick to ask Katara for a little waterbending one on one. Nothing drastic, just a few maneuvers they both wanted to master that the other had created. Katara with her wall of water that she had taken from Toph's earthbending, and Orora with her wave of water using her leg that she had been inspired to do after seeing Zuko create a plume of fire with just the sweep of his leg.

Orora didn't miss the way Katara kept glancing at her finger, where her string glowed a warm red. Obviously the other girl couldn't see the color, but it still made her nervous. But she made no comment about it, simply focusing on the training and nothing else.

Dinner was Haru and The Duke's responsibility that night, so both girls arrived once everyone else had already begun to eat.

Everyone except Zuko that is.

Orora frowned at his absence, but quickly pushed it to the side. Instead she walked past the warm bowl of food that waited for her to go give Appa his feed for the day.

Only to stop short when she saw Zuko leaning against a column just beside the bison, his arms crossed as he looked below. Clearly, he was deep in thought. The girl quickly walked over to Appa and pulled out the hay from under the tarp where they stored it. "Here you go buddy." She smiled at the giant creature. "Eat good." She patted his nose as he gave her a happy groan before beginning to eat.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Zuko's voice had her frowning. "You just did." She responded, a slight bite in her tone which probably had him flinching. An awkward silence ensued, one that had Zuko nearly squirming where he stood.

She closed her eyes before opening them again and turning to face him, her arms crossed over her chest. "Does what you have to ask effect Aang?" Keep her conversation with him short and to the point, while also keeping the topics on anything but them.

Not like he meant anything to her.

Right?

He nodded. "Yeah, I-I think I've lost my inner fire. Or maybe its weaker somehow." A twinge of concern ran through her as she blinked at him. Over his shoulder, she saw the rest of the group glancing in their direction, obviously curious as to what they were speaking about.

She turned back to him. "Look, I know you said you wanted to be a part of the group. And being a part of the group means we solve all our problems together." Nodding over his shoulder she gestured for him to start walking. "Best to have them be involved as well."

Zuko stood there quietly for a few moments, before he nodded. "You're right, I shouldn't burden you with my problems." Instantly Orora's entire demeanor changed. Her eyes grew ice cold, and her lips pressed in a thin line as she glared at him. "That's not what I said." She hissed at him, to which he raised his hands in a placating manner.

"No, yeah I know you didn't. Its just what I think." The two teenagers stared at one another for a few more moments. "Well you shouldn't think that either." Confusion ran through her veins. Why would she get angry at Zuko thinking he was a burden on her?

With that Orora walked back to the group, ignoring everyone's questioning looks and busying herself with her dinner as Zuko approached.

And especially ignoring the way her string had flared at the last few words she had said to Zuko.

She was a little tuned out from the conversation as she tried to regain her composure, and calm her suddenly rapid heartbeat. Toph did glance at her curiously, but decided not to say anything.

"Well, it's not lost." She heard Zuko say, his voice somehow bringing her back from the murky confines of her own mind. "It's just........weaker for some reason."

Katara, who was sitting next to Orora held up her bowl and glared at Zuko. "Maybe you're not as good as you think you are."

"Ouch." Toph stated, smiling sarcastically as she fed herself some carrot with her chopstick.

Orora, without even looking up from her bowl of food, where she was listlessly stirring her noodles spoke up. "Trust me, he is good." Everyone glanced at her surprised. Even Zuko. "He had an amazing Master," She finally raised her head to point her chopsticks at Zuko. "And he's too stubborn and determined to not be good." Beside her Katara pursed her lips, her eyes flashing with anger as she glared at Orora.

Zuko, taking confidence from the fact that Orora didn't think him weak, decided to put forth what he had been thinking over earlier. "I bet it's because I changed sides." He stated, frowning in thought.

"That's ridiculous." Katara muttered under her breath, as she drank the broth from her bowl.

Aang hummed in thought. "I don't know. Maybe it isn't." He look to Zuko. "Maybe your firebending comes from rage and you just don't have enough anger to fuel it the way you used to?"

For some reason she felt compelled to add to the conversation. "You did always use your bending more when you were angry." Why couldn't she just stay detached like she had told herself to be? It was her weakness, she figured, wanting to help people she cared about.

Or had cared about at some point.

Or did she still care about Zuko?

Sokka, never wanting to miss a chance to mess with the Fire Nation Prince leaned towards him and pointed a finger. "So, all we need to do is make Zuko angry. Easy enough." He declared, glancing slyly between Zuko, Orora and Haru. He probably didn't value his life enough, which was what prompted him to say what he did next. "Either we can have Haru flirt with Orora to get Zuko angry."

His suggestion had mixed reactions.

Katara's gaze was so chilling that it nearly rivaled the one Orora would normally wear. Aang and Toph both coughed into their broths, trying their best to mask their laughter. Teo and The Duke looked around oblivious. Haru's eyes widened and he looked away, though the blush on his cheeks was hard to miss.

But the best reaction was Zuko and Orora's.

Their eyes promised death as they both glared at Sokka. But he remained oblivious, as he picked up his sword and grinned. "Or!" As another option, he began to poke Zuko with the hilt of his weapon. He hit the other boy several times on the head and waist, laughing as he did.

"Okay, cut it out!" Zuko finally snapped, once he had calmed down considerably and didn't feel the urge to firebend the water tribe boy off the side of the Temple. He only stopped because he reminded himself that he wanted to win these people over. Sokka did stop, his sword slipping from his hand and flying up before falling on his own head.

Sighing Zuko pinched his nose. "Look, even if you're right, I don't want to rely on hate and anger anymore." He stated firmly. "There has to be another way."

Toph was the one who spoke up this time. "You're gonna need to learn to draw your firebending from a different source." She said, eating another vegetable from her bowl. "I recommend the original source."

Looking a little too excited for someone who was hit with his own weapon, Sokka perked up. "How's he supposed to do that‌? By jumping into a volcano‌?" He said, his question ending in a laugh that had Zuko scowling in annoyance.

Toph shook her head. "No." She stated firmly. "Zuko needs to go back to whatever the original source of firebending is." She explained further.

Raising an eyebrow, Sokka asked again. "So, is it jumping into a volcano?" He'd barely finished his inquiry when suddenly a blur of blue flew through the air and Sokka found himself, once again, with a mask of ice latched around his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

"Your opinion is no longer needed Sokka." Orora stated, as calm as could be, sipping from her broth and ignoring the way everyone was looking at her. Zuko felt his lips morph to a brief smile as Sokka began to mutely struggle with his binds. "Please continue Toph." The older girl urged Toph who grinned before nodding.

"For earthbending," She began, placing her bowl on the floor. "The original benders were badgermoles. One day, when I was little, I ran away and hid in a cave. That's where I met them. They were blind, just like me. So we understood each other. I was able to learn earthbending, not just as a martial art, but as an extension of my senses. For them, the original earthbenders, it wasn't just about fighting. It was their way of interacting with the world." The girl finished a nostalgic smile on her face.

Everyone stared at the girl, stunned. "That's amazing, Toph!" Aang stated, the awe in his voice evident before he turned his attention back to Zuko.

"I learned from the monks, but the original airbenders were the sky bison." He waved his arm in the direction of the mural they sat opposite to which depicted three sky bisons flying above the clouds. Grinning the boy looked in Appa's direction. "Maybe you can give me a lesson sometime, buddy." His received his answer in the form of a sleepy groan from Appa.

Licking her lips, Orora cleared her throat before she began. "For the waterbenders we learn from the moon." He gaze turned towards the sky just beyond the awning where they were sitting underneath. "How she pulls and pushes the tide towards her every night." She shrugged. "I guess that's also the reason we're so strong at night. Especially during a full moon."

A smile pulled at her lips as she continued. "I used to sneak away to the Spirit Oasis whenever things would get too much at home." She revealed, thinking back on all those nights she had sneaked out of the house and to bask in the tranquility of the Spirit Oasis. "It was there, while watching Koi Fish swim in an infinite circle that I was able to discover my waterbending."

Zuko stared at her in slight awe, once more taken aback whenever she would reveal something about her past. Still, what they had all shared wasn't something that helped him. And he stated as such. "The original firebenders were the dragons, and they're extinct."

Sitting up straight Aang frowned. "What do you mean‌?" He asked. "Roku had a dragon, and there were plenty of dragons when I was a kid."

Once again, frustration won him over and Zuko burst out. "Well, they aren't around anymore, okay?"

Aang moved his arms in an appeasing manner. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry." He said, remembering what Orora had told him earlier, to let Zuko just calm down on his own.

For his part, Zuko looked around the group before his gaze landed on Orora. Their eyes locked for barely a moment, and yet he felt a certain calmness overcome him and he exhaled deeply.

"But maybe there's another way." He said, walking towards the nearly destroyed fountain. "The first people to learn from the dragons were the ancient Sun Warriors."

Aang stood, approaching Zuko and standing beside him. "Sun Warriors? Well, I know they weren't around when I was a kid."

Zuko shook his head, turning to look at Aang. "No, they died off thousands of years ago. But their civilization wasn't too far from where we are now. Maybe we can learn something by poking around their ruins."

For his part Aang nodded in understanding. "It's like the monks used to tell me." He said. "Sometimes, the shadows of the past can be felt by the present."

Having finally had the mask melted away from his mouth Sokka spoke up. "So, what?" The Avatar and the prince turned to look at the group as Sokka continued. "Maybe you'll pick up some super old Sun Warrior energy just by standing where they stood a thousand years ago?"

Orora hummed. "Well I discovered my bending by just looking at the Koi Fish, so why can't it work for them?" She asked, gesturing towards where they stood.

"More or less." Zuko stated, agreeing with the both of them. "Either I find a new way to firebend," He looked to Aang. "Or the Avatar has to find a new teacher."

Aang gave a worried look while Sokka hummed thoughtfully. "Hmmmm, I doubt another one will miraculously appear like Zuko did." He paused before glancing around. "Unless one of you are hiding a firebender like Orora was."

For his trouble, Sokka received another ice mask to the mouth, courtesy of a fuming older sister.

                                            ————————–

As she watched Appa take off, carrying Zuko and Aang, Orora couldn't help but feel a bubble of worry settle in her chest. Surprisingly, this worry had nothing to do with the doubt that Zuko would betray Aang and capture him, or worse.

This worry was over the fact that her little brother and soulmate were going to a place where she wouldn't be able to protect them.

And now she was even more confused.

Why wasn't she doubting Zuko's intentions? She had more then enough reason to, and yet somehow, she just.......didn't. Did that mean she had forgiven him? No, she was still angry at him. Wasn't she?

But then if she were angry at him that meant she still cared enough for him to have feelings for him?

Not to mention on the front of worrying about the two boys getting intro trouble and not getting out of it, she felt her stomach tense.

"I don't like this."

Katara's voice had Orora snapping out of her thoughts. She glanced to the side where the girl stood, mirroring her act of staring at the sky, watching as Appa grew smaller and smaller into the distance. Everyone else had already scattered, aside from Sokka, who sat near a broken column, polishing his space sword.

"Katara," She said, her voice gentle. "I know you're worried, but you don't have to worry about Aang going alone with Zuko."

"How can you be so sure about it?" Katara demanded to know. Willing herself to be patient, knowing just how scared Katara really was, Orora offered her a soft smile, placing her hand on her shoulder. "What happened in Ba Sing Se, isn't going to happen again. Zuko won't allow it."

Instantly, Katara's entire demeanor changed. Where she had looked worried and scared, now her features morphed to one of sheer fury and utter rage.

"How do you know he isn't taking Aang to be captured by the Fire Nation?" She said, turning on her heel so she could face the older girl fully, pushing off her hand in the process.

Maybe that had been the wrong thing to say. Orora pursed her lips, trying to think of a way to diffuse the situation. "I've known Zuko the longest Katara, and I believe he has changed." She responded her voice calm, hoping her tone would help soothe Katara's temper.

Nostrils flaring in anger Katara glared at her older sister. "Why are you defending him?" She demanded to know, prompting Orora to frown slightly.

"I'm not-" She began to say, only to be cut off. "Yes you are." The other girl's voice had started to raise in volume. "You shouldn't be defending him. Not after he betrayed you and broke your heart." The reminder had Orora flinching.

"Katara, this is our only chance of ending this war." She said, feeling a strange emotion simmering just under the surface but pushing it aside in favor of speaking gently to her younger sister. "You have to consider how it benefits us. Otherwise Ozai will beat us and the Fire Nation will finally take over the world."

A laugh of derision echoed against the walls of the long abandoned Temple. "Is that really your excuse?!" Katara demanded, a mocking smile on her lips with her arms crossed in front of her chest as she glared at Orora.

Orora frowned. "Its not an excuse Katara." She said, anger seeping into her tone as she regarded the other waterbender. "I want this war to end just as much as anyone."

"Oh do you?" Katara knew she was being cold, unfair and even spiteful, but she couldn't help it. And neither did she care. Not when she was this angry and worried at the same time. She needed to let her emotions out, and it seemed Orora was her target. "Or do you just want a chance to reconcile with your soulmate even though he is the enemy?"

Seeing Orora's mouth fall open and stare at her in utter shock was rather satisfying. "Do you really believe me to be that selfish Katara?" The other girl demanded, her volume now matching Katara's. "Do you really think I would put my family in danger for the sake of reconciliation with my soulmate?" Her hands were clenched in fists at her sides, causing the twin pots that held their water storage to tremble.

Sokka, who had been following their conversation closely since the beginning now set his sword aside, ready to intervene if need be. Maybe he should've stopped them before things got too heated, but then their next encounter wouldn't have been as calm as this one had been so far.

They needed to talk things out.

"He is the enemy!"

"He isn't the enemy anymore."

"He's the Prince of the Fire Nation."

"And that makes him bad? You've seen the citizens Katara, all of them aren't bad. They're just misguided."

Katara rolled her eyes. "Oh and you think you'll be able to guide Zuko back to the right path do you?" Orora faltered, frowning and shaking her head.

"N-no. This was all his choice, I had nothing to do with-" The other girl looked away, scoffing as she did, not wanting to look at her sister any longer lest she grew even angrier.

"Save it! You may turn a blind eye Orora, but I see the way he looks at you." Katara stated in a cold tone.

"What're you talking about Katara? What way?" Oh but she knew. She knew the answer to this question. Knew Katara's response would either make her or break her. She'd seen him look away from her, and she knew how he looked at her.

It was the same way Orora had seen Aang and Katara look at one another when the other wasn't looking.

A look that filled her with joy for her two friends, and yet sadness because she didn't believe anyone would look at her the same way.

Until now.

Katara opened her mouth to reveal the truth, but at that moment, Sokka stepped in partially between them. He gave his younger sister a look, silently telling her not to say another word. And for once Katara listened to her older brother.

With one final look of anger and eyes full of spite, the girl turned on her feet and walked away.

No sooner had she disappeared from view when Orora felt her legs tremble. She would've collapsed onto the floor if Sokka hadn't reached out to wrap and arm around her waist to keep her standing. "Easy there, come here, sit." He urged, gently guiding her towards one of the flatter rocks. Orora barely noticed as she tried to focus on her breathing, trying to calm her heart and mind as they raced ahead. Sokka crouched in front of her, a worried look in his eyes as he gripped her hands in comfort.

It took a few minutes for her breathing to even out, and once it did, Sokka finally spoke. "You good?" He asked, the concern evident in his eyes. She gave a small nod, pulling one hand from his grasp and cradling her head by pressing her forehead against it.

"Spirits! Whats wrong with me?" She muttered. "I was always so good at locking away my emotions and not feel anything for weeks but now its like I can barely keep my emotions in check." Raising her head to look at her brother, Orora bit her lip. "Am I weak now? Is that what this is? I have a weak heart?"

Sokka shook his head, squeezing the one hand he held as he smiled gently at his sister. "You're not weak Orora. You're one of the strongest people I know. And I've traveled almost the whole world, so that's saying something."

His attempt to lighten the mood had the older girl giving a small smile. "Even the strongest of people get overwhelmed sometimes Orora. And you were bound to be." He patted her hand in an affectionate manner. "The best way to unburden yourself is to let it all out and talk to the people involved."

She opened her mouth to say something, but Sokka held up his hand, stopping her. "Katara is right on her part to stay on guard. She nearly lost her soulmate because of his betrayal. Yes, I know about her and Aang even though no one has told me, I don't have that detective hat for nothing you know." Briefly smiling at her disgruntled look, he continued with a more serious face.

"But I am happy for you Orora, because now you have your soulmate on the same side of the war. And sure, he has a long road ahead of him to prove himself, but from what I have seen, in just a day, he is going to give it his all." Sokka grinned. "Mostly because I can see just how much he cares about you."

Trying hard not to blush, and failing, Orora bit her lower lip, before sighing. "I'll have to talk to Zuko when he gets back won't I?" Her response had Sokka nodding. "Yeah, and I know you're both at ends right now, but maybe after that talk, things won't be as tense."

The girl nodded, pursing her lips and exhaling softly. "You're right. We should all try to move forward, and focus on ending this war once and for all." Sokka frowned. "That's not what I-"

But Orora cut him off as she stood, pulling him to stand with her. "Thank you Sokka." She said, smiling at him before pulling him in for a hug, after which she walked off, leaving a rather confused watertribe boy behind.

After a moment he shook his head. "And they say I'm oblivious." He muttered to himself, making a mental note to talk to Zuko before Orora had the chance.

                                            ————————–

Surprisingly it was the hunger that got to them rather then the boredom.

Being glued to the ceiling with nothing to do but stare at the changing sky above did tend to get rather tedious. However, Zuko and Aang entertained themselves, after multiple failed attempts to escape their trap, by simply talking.

"So you're telling me that Orora joined in on the scamming thing?" Zuko asked, once Aang had finished relating the entire tale to the firebender. The boy nodded as he smiled. "Yup! She even came up with a couple of scams with Toph. Pretty good ones too." He added with a chuckle.

Curiosity burned in him as he frowned thoughtfully, trying to picture Orora actually going along with all of that. "I remember she used to tell me off for stealing stuff while we traveled through the Earth Kingdom." He revealed with a nostalgic smile. Aang hummed.

"Well she did urge us to stop once we had enough money for supplies and stuff. And she didn't join in after the first day, so yeah, maybe that Orora you hung out with came back." It was strange to think of what she had gotten up to while traveling with Aang and the others. In Zuko's mind she had been with him since he had been seeing her everywhere.

Zuko frowned. "She was probably too worried about me to actually do something fun while were traveled together." He stated, his voice full of remorse. He did remember her being worried about them all the time. Not so much as herself but more his Uncle and him. "Oh come on, I'm sure you both had some fun." Aang's cheerful voice cut through his gloomy thoughts. Despite how uncomfortable his current position was, Zuko was glad Aang couldn't see his face as he blushed, thoughts of what fun he had Orora had gotten up to flashed through his mind.

"And people do tend to worry about their other half when there is danger involved." Aang attempted to shrug, but the glue stopped his efforts. "I mean, Katara and I worry about one another all the time."

A brief moment of silence passed before Zuko finally asked. "So you've known Katara for this long and neither of you have talked about being soulmates?" He was curious how the both of them could walk around and not acknowledge something so......significant. Sure he and Orora had tried to deny it in the beginning but fate had other plans.

Aang grimaced. "It just never seemed like the right time." He finally revealed, the reason sounding stupid, even to his ears. He heard Zuko let out a sound of disbelief.

"Oh so going into battle with a low chance of survival wasn't a good time?" He said, the sarcasm evident in his tone which had Aang jumping to his own defense.

"Well I did kiss her before it all started." The young Avatar stated in a proud tone which only prompted Zuko to roll his eyes.

"And yet you still haven't talked about it, have you?"

Silence followed his question, before a small grumpy voice responded with a simple:

"No." Came the dejected response.

This time Zuko shook his head, his gaze following a cloud as it floated above. "Agni, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." He muttered under his breath, prompting Aang to purse his lips in anger and take a metaphorical swing at his friend.

"Oh! Like your situation is any better." Alright, so maybe it was a low blow, but Aang had to admit, he did feel a little anger towards Zuko for what he had done to his older sister. And as her self-proclaimed younger brother, who also happened to be the Avatar, it was his duty to make sure she didn't get hurt. Again.

Even though it wasn't much of an argument, Zuko still tried to make his point. "At least Orora and I know that we're soulmates."

In response, his friend rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah? And has that done any good to either of you?" He heard Zuko take a breath, ready to response, but Aang continued to speak, cutting him off. "I mean you saved her and leave, only to attack her before helping her again and taking her with you. Then you betray her and then change sides, save her again and now where do you two stand?"

Shocked silence followed his words. Zuko had suspected that Orora had told her friends about what had happened between them, but he hadn't been aware of just how much. He wandered if she had told them about the more intimate moments they had shared and how their relationship had begun to shift.

Clearing his throat, the young Prince, once again, tried to make an argument. "Well its more complicated when you say it like that."

A beat of silence.

"I know you can't see me right now, but just know, I'm giving you a look." Came Aang's voice, full of sarcasm, a trait Zuko had no idea the young boy even possessed.

Still he shook his head. "Okay, so I admit I've made a lot of mistakes when it comes to the whole soulmate thing, but I'm gonna make up for all of it. I don't plan on giving up."

His words came out with as much conviction as he could muster. Not to mention the tone of his words had Aang frowning in thought. "You really mean that?" He asked.

"Look, I know I've said that I changed side because I wanted to help you, but I would be lying if I didn't include that a major part of my changing was because of Orora." The teenager sighed. "She once told me, that I should find my reason for living, but she never said I couldn't find two reasons. The first one being ending the war and restoring balance to the world and the second reason is......her. Just her."

To say Aang was a little stunned would be an understatement.

A sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his being echoed in the clearing. "I just need to make her see that she's my reason." He said, his voice dejected and sorrowful.

Though it was difficult, Aang managed to move his head enough so he could catch a glimpse of Zuko's face. Or at least the side of it.

"You promise never to break her heart again?" He asked, to which Zuko shook his head, as much as he was able to.

"I would rather give up my firebending then break her heart again." That was a very serious proclamation. Even saying something like that out loud was considered bad luck, and yet Aang found it was exactly what he needed to hear to make up his mind.

"Then I'll help you win her back." He said, smiling when he saw Zuko's eye widen in surprise. "You'll really help me?" The firebender asked, his voice full of disbelief.

Aang turned his gaze towards the sky again, thinking of the girl who had become such an important person in his life. "I just want Orora to be happy. She's like a sister to me, but she will be stubborn. Not to mention she has the tendency to lock her emotions for a long time. I just hate to see her destroy her chance at happiness. Besides, its never good to always live in anger, as you've already done. No offense."

"None taken."

"She deserves to be happy," The airbender stated firmly. "Especially after all that shes been through."

"I just want her to be happy." Came Zuko's voice. "Even if she doesn't accept our bond, I just want her to be happy."

And that was when Aang knew, Zuko's feelings for Orora went beyond simple affection. The realization had the Avatar smiling to himself, hoping that Orora would recognize her own feelings for her soulmate and just be happy.

                                            ————————–

She spent the rest of the day alone.

It helped that everyone kept their distance, but it also helped that she decided to walk away under the guise of exploring the Temple on her own. The silence was welcoming and honestly, she had needed the respite. After all that had happened in quick succession, one after the other, Orora had barely had any time to really sift through her thoughts and just be by herself.

Meditation, her Master had taught her, was the key to discovering self and gaining control over one's emotions.

And so that was what she did.

Luckily for her, she found a hall that would suit to her needs. It was big and airy, with plenty of light. But the best part was the giant fountain bubbling away in the center. There were several smaller ones as well and she remembered The Duke telling her how Teo had managed to fix the mechanism that made it work and now the fountain bubbled away as it had done a hundred years ago.

She looked around, admiring the architecture and the simple splendor of it all. The Air Nomads truly were amazing architects, she mused to herself, sitting down at the edge of the fountain and looking at the clear water.

Had her mind been at ease, she would've admired everything even more.

But for now, the young waterbender simply crossed her legs underneath her. Reaching up, she pulled her hair free, allowing the mid-length dark brown locks to settle around her shoulders. Settling her hands in her lap, one above the other, the young girl took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

The sound of her element calmed her, and slowly her breath evened out as she began to delve deeper into her meditative state, loosing herself to her mind, heart and soul.

                                            ————————–

"Well now that we have our firebending." Aang said with a cheerful smile. "What say you and I get started on our lessons?" He asked his thoroughly distracted teacher who was looking around the small group that had greeted them upon their return.

"Where's Orora?" Zuko asked, not finding the girl anywhere. He had noticed her absence as soon as they had arrived, but had only just voiced his concern. "She discovered the fountain Teo fixed up in the eastern part of the Temple and went back to it straight after breakfast." Toph revealed. "She's actually been there almost all the time since you two left. Only coming back at night for dinner and to sleep." The younger girl added. They'd all wanted to see what was wrong, but Sokka had told them not to interfere. He had explained to Toph what had happened, and she wasn't really happy with Orora isolating herself like that. The last time she had done it, her older sister had nearly lost herself.

Worry gnawed at his chest, as Zuko glanced down at his finger where his glowing blue string was leading him towards her. Without another word, he began to walk in the direction Toph had just mentioned, his every step determined as he walked further and further into the Temple.

As he drew closer to the hall, he could hear the sound of water. His string tightened and he knew it was the right hall. Turning the corner, he walked towards the door, entering the large room and stopping at the threshold.

Orora was there, standing in the middle of the fountain, fully clothed, and going through a rather intricate waterbending move. Even from here he could see the concentration on her face and he didn't want to break it.

It took her a few minutes before she finally stopped, bringing herself to a halt with a deep exhale, her palms down in front of her. It was then that he moved forward, walking further into the room even as she started another waterbending form.

"Hey," Zuko greeted over the sound of the water splashing and the fountain gurgling away. "Aang and I just came back and I wandered where you were."

"I've been here." She responded, her voice calm, never once breaking her stance as her arms circled around in front of her, creating a bubble of water that was a perfect sphere.

Clearing his throat Zuko nodded. "Well, I've got good news. I got my firebending back, and Aang learned it too." She finally looked up to meet his gaze.

But only briefly, before she returned to her water sphere, which she was now splitting into multiple smaller ones.

"That's good news." She responded. "Now you can start with your firebending lessons."

Zuko frowned, having expected more of a reaction from her then what she was giving him. "We learned to firebend from the masters." He added, hoping to surprise her with the existence of dragons. "You won't believe who they were."

As she transformed the water spheres into spheres of ice, Orora turned away from him. "I'm sure nothing you can say would surprise me."

Finally he sighed, frustration seeping into his tone as he spoke. "So is this how its going to be? You barely speaking to me?" He asked, deciding that maybe the best way to get through to her would be to stop tip-toeing around her.

"I've found that the best way for me to move forward is to keep my interactions with you brief." She revealed, despite the fact the words felt heavy on her tongue and even heavier on her heart.

Zuko scowled, arms coming up to cross over his chest. "You never had any problem hiding your feelings before, so why can't you just come out and say what you are feeling. I can't read your mind Orora, so you'll have to help me out in understanding whats going on in your mind." He paused after his outburst, looking at her where she still had her back turned to him. "We used to-" His voice broke as he bit on his lower lip before picking up again. "We came to a point where we talked about everything Orora. Can't you bring yourself to share what you're feeling with me like you once did?"

He saw her shoulders tense, saw her her entire demeanor shifted. Zuko knew her long enough to read her body language, and in that moment he knew, she was beginning to loose her grip on her emotions. She turned, and for the first time since had had arrived, Zuko noticed her hair was down.

"If you really want to know." She said after a brief length of silence, her ice spheres still floating around her as she kept her arms lifted. "I'm angry, frustrated and sad."

Zuko nodded. At least she was talking to him. "And I guess all those feelings are targeted towards me." It was more of a statement then a question, still the look that followed confirmed his guess.

The boy nodded in understanding. "In that case, why don't you take it out on me."

Silence.

"What?"

He dropped his arms at his sides to appear as non-threatening as he could. "Come on. I promise I won't fight back, and I'll stay on the defensive."

She rolled her eyes at him, turning away once more. "I'm not going to do that Zuko." She responded, trying to shut him out. Of course, he wouldn't let her.

"Come on, I'm offering you a chance to just let loose." He urged her. Maybe if she had an outlet, he would have a better chance of actually gaining her trust again.

"No Zuko." She responded firmly.

"Just let it out Orora."

"Just leave Zuko."

"I can handle it." His voice was beginning to get louder.

And she matched his tone. "I said no."

"Look we have to work this out somehow." He burst out, his voice echoing against the walls and the water. "We can't just ignore each other. But if my being here makes you uncomfortable I can camp somewhere else. Aang can always come to me for firebending lessons."

He would do anything, anything to make her happy. Even if it meant removing himself form her life. Zuko knew it would have a very very negative impact on him.

But he didn't care.

Not when it came to her.

His string glowed bright and blue, though what caught his attention was when her side of the string glowed a crimson red.

Just as a water whip flew through the air and he barely created a pillar of fire to block it.

Though why did she break?

Why finally let go of the emotions she had worked so hard to regain control over through meditation over the last few days?

Because the thought of him sitting alone and friendless was what finally broke something in her.

Later Orora could never really remember what happened. How many times she attacked him and how many times he deflected her.

She had no idea when the others arrived, standing at the threshold with Aang and Sokka both holding Katara and Toph back from intervening.

What she did remember, was when she began to scream at him.

"You left me." The words echoed against the bare walls as she threw an ice disk at him.

Zuko jumped out of its way, landing on his feet. "I'm sorry." He shouted back, his features set in a look of anguish at what she said next.

"You broke my heart and you just left." Sokka tried not to feel just how true the words rang for him as he thought of Suki captive somewhere. "How could you do that to me?" An icicle shot through the air.

"I regretted it!" He twisted out of the way of the incoming projectile. "I regretted it as soon as I did it." Though her moves were starting to shift back towards the basic they were only growing in speed and viciousness.

Orora gritted her teeth, her face appearing almost unrecognizable with the amount of anger and utter anguish that she was feeling in that moment. "I'm your soulmate, was I not enough for you?" She paused, coming to a standstill in the middle of the room.

"No that's not it." Panting for breath Zuko stood opposite her, just a few paces away.

"Then what?" She roared, getting ready to attack him again.

His voice raised to match her volume as he finally revealed. "I thought you were leaving with your friends."

She faltered, her eyes widening and the water dropping to the ground where she'd been getting ready to strike. "How could you think that? I would never have left you." Whatever small pause she had taken ended the next moment when she created a wave that flew towards him. Zuko spun on his feet, creating a whirlpool of fire to protect him that dissipated her water wave.

"I know that now." He responded, straightening up. "I was just scared. I was scared of loosing you."

The revelation only seemed to make her angrier, as her attacks began to get sloppy yet stronger. Never before had Toph felt two heartbeats so in sync and yet frantic. "You went back to your family. The people who hurt you."

"I didn't realize it then, but I had to." The firebender cried out, doing his best to evade her attacks as best as he could. "I had to face them one last time. Confront them about all they had done."

Silently urging Zuko on, Aang hoped he would reveal everything to her. And then he did. "But all the time I was there you were always on my mind Orora." The young Prince revealed. "I told you, I didn't stop thinking about you. You were always there with me."

Katara frowned, her anger starting to replace her worry as she took in the way Orora's attacks kept changing in brutality and speed. And they were, as Zuko was beginning to find it harder and harder to defend himself against her attacks.

"Fight back!" Orora screamed as she threw a large sphere of ice in his direction which exploded into sharp icicles as it neared him.

Bringing up a wall of fire and burning the ammunition, Zuko shook his head. "No! I won't fight you!"

She paused, her entire body trembling, her eyes ablaze. "Fight back you coward!"

"No!" His voice was firm and true. "I won’t hurt you Orora." He watched as she closed her eyes, as if she were trying to block out the sound of his voice just by doing so. So he spoke even louder. "I’ve hurt you enough. And I will never hurt you again!"

A scream of sheer anger and heartbreak rang through the air, as Orora flung her arms behind her to create twin water whips. "Fight back!"

The first water whip, he was able to dodge. However, the second proved to be impossible.

A loud grunt of pain escaped him when the strength behind her attack caught him in the chest, sending him flying into the wall just next to the doorway.

For a moment he had his very breath knocked out of him, before he slid to the floor. He tried to get up, but barely got to his knees when he collapsed again, groaning in pain.

"Zuko!"

Her eyes were wide, her breathing ragged, and a horrifying fear she had never known before raged through her body as she stood there frozen, staring at the unmoving figure of her soulmate.

Aang, Sokka, Katara and Toph were the first to reach him, crowding around him.

"He's alright, I can feel his heartbeat." Toph responded, as Sokka laid him down on his back while Katara moved to pull water from her water skin.

But his hand darted out, pushing away Katara's offer to heal him. "No. I don't want to be healed." He said, his voice conveying how much pain he felt. Aang straightened. "Well maybe Orora can-" He trailed off as he looked around.

"Where'd she go?"

For as soon as she'd heard Zuko's voice, the young waterbender had raced out of the room. With tears blurring her vision and her heart all but in a million pieces, she ran until she collapsed.

Where?

She did not know.

And then she just cried.

Fully aware of how his string had not lost it's color despite what had happened.

Then again, neither had hers.

                                           ————————–

Tag List - @wavesofchaos​ @violet-potter​ @rennysketch​ @emma-andrea1 @lovesammikinzz @fuzzyfestcat @msrawog @notsaelty @lust-for-pan @aces-tattooartist @jinxxangel13 @lotr-got @bitterspoons @realrintaro @gatorgirl151 @inutheangel @heartfully10 @lucaaahhh @juniper-july19 @anuttellaa @gfksz @bussyvussy @punksnotdeadbutiam @ablofftoneverland-blog-blog @slut-for-menn @vyliie @army-moa75 @juwhls @aqlodun @lovelybaka @glowyruby

[narumi-gens]

Never Felt a Feeling Like This

Narumi Gen x f!Reader

summary: For Narumi, it’s love at first sight. For you, it’s boredom.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, meet-ugly, masturbation (m), hinted femdom, switch!narumi (like literally from one paragraph to the next sometimes), budding degradation kink, but also praise kink, spit kink, inappropriate workplace behavior and relationships, mentioned/implied power imbalance (but in name only), dubiously solicited dick pics, narumi is a simp and I'm embarrassed for him and you should be too, narumi’s imagination gets a real workout in this, no bs4s were harmed in the writing of this fic (takes place pre-bs5 release), do not break electronics without proper safety equipment, excessive emoji use (did you know emojis count as words in the word count??)

notes: the kn8!chaos couple's origin story is finally revealed! I'm just happy I was finally able to use a Beyoncé lyric in a title. she released Renaissance because she wanted the kn8!chaos couple to have music to fuck to.

words: 6.3k

part of the Agents of Chaos series

minors, ageless, and blank blogs do not like, reblog, or comment

As the First Division’s Vice-Captain leads you throughout Ariake Maritime Base on a tour of the facilities, you find your interest hanging on by a thread. 

All Defense Force bases are essentially the same — you have your training grounds and rooms, administration offices, barracks, an Operation Room, and mission preparation spaces. So, you’re torn between yawning loudly and pulling out your phone to see if there’s anything else more worthy of your time, which there surely is. 

The only thing stopping you is that this is your first time meeting Vice-Captain Hasegawa and you have just enough awareness to recognize that doing either would probably lead to a poor reaction from the man. There will be plenty of opportunities to test his patience in the weeks, months, and — hopefully — years to come. 

With great effort, you stifle both urges and continue pretending to look like everything Hasegawa is telling you is not going in one ear and out the other. You wish he would just drop you off in the Operation Room so that you could figure out which station and console you wanted to take over. 

Your mind has begun to wander so much that you almost run into him when he comes to a sudden stop in the middle of the hallway. Although considering he’s still talking and is pointedly facing a pair of double doors, the stop might not have seemed as sudden if you had been paying attention. 

“—wanted to warn you,” he sighs and you realize that you’ve missed everything he’s said before. 

But you quickly catch sight of the plaque next to the door that reads, “Narumi Gen, First Division Captain,” and are easily able to piece together what it was that Hasegawa was warning you about.

“Ah, don’t worry, Hasegawa. I knew what I was getting into!” you grin up at him, completely missing the way his eyebrow raises at how casually you’ve addressed him without his proper title. “Captain Ogata made sure of that when he was trying to convince me to take the Head of Operations opening at the Third Division instead.”

Your assurances don’t seem to provide him with any sort of comfort. If anything, his severe expression only deepens.

“Yes, well. We’re a little ahead of schedule for your introductory meeting with Captain Narumi but he should be in,” he says, deciding to move past the unsurprising revelation that the Fourth Division Captain had tried to steer you clear of the chaos at the top of the First. 

He sharply raps his knuckles on one of the grand, wooden doors to announce your presence and opens them both without waiting for a reply. When you see what lies inside of the office, you understand why. 

Your gaze isn’t sure what it should settle on. The piles of dirty clothes? The overflowing garbage cans? The discarded and empty water bottles, cans of coffee, and energy drinks? The precariously stacked Yamazon boxes lining the walls? The reverently displayed and definitely overpriced action figures?

But your eyes are quickly drawn to the lump inside of the futon laid out in the middle of the office and right in front of the large TV, where a first-person shooter game is playing out on the screen. If you listen carefully, you can just make out the muttering coming from the lump in between the sounds of the game’s gunfire.

You tilt your head to the side as you take in the sight. Even if Ogata hadn’t pulled you aside at every opportunity to caution you away from the First Division, Narumi Gen’s reputation was practically legendary among the ranks of the Defense Force — and only partially for his skill in combating kaiju. 

It wasn’t a lie when you told Hasegawa that you knew what you were getting into when you accepted the position as the First Division’s new Head of Operations. However, the chaotic state of Narumi’s office still manages to take you slightly by surprise. 

Somehow, you remain unaware of the way the corners of your lips are slightly tugging upwards in a hint of a smile.

You’re pulled from your musings by the waves of anger that you feel radiating off of Hasegawa, who you had genuinely forgotten was standing next to you. His arms are crossed over his chest and this close to him, you can see the vein on his forehead pulsing. 

“I apologize for your first impression of Captain Narumi,” he grumbles and you can easily tell that this is a common occurrence for the man. “If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll take care of this.”

But before he can march toward the lump, you cut him off. 

“No need! I can handle this,” you tell him genially as you curiously open the Yamazon box on top of the mountain nearest you. You’re unimpressed by the six-pack of energy drinks inside. You note that it’s the same brand as the empty cans strewn across the office floor as you carelessly push the box off the stack, where it falls to the floor with a dull thud. 

You open the next box and pull out a boxed set of some movie series that you’ve never heard of and which has an obnoxious yellow sticker on the front that says, “LIMITED EDITION!” You pout with disinterest and toss it over your shoulder. 

“Are you sure?” Hasegawa asks just as you get ready to move on to the next Yamazon box and you abandon your search through Narumi’s things. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you worry too much?” you reply, your nose wrinkled slightly in distaste. 

Your admonishment and clear lack of boundaries has a sense of dread creeping up on Hasegawa — one that usually only accompanies a kaiju attack. He’s quick to tamp down any fears that his already-frequent headaches are about to increase, not wanting to tempt whatever higher power might be out there by putting those thoughts into the universe.

The only outward sign of his apprehension is his deepening frown. He responds with a wordless hum. 

Turning away from the Yamazon boxes, you look back to the lump to find that it hasn’t moved once despite the noise and your and Hasegawa’s presence. Glancing at the TV screen, you see that the game is still in progress. 

There’s an obvious solution to this problem. 

The lump is so focused on clearing its virtual mission that it’s easy for you to walk toward the TV, reach behind it, and yank the BS4 plug from the overfilled power strip. The sudden silence from the TV as the console unexpectedly shuts off is met with a screech from the lump, which finally moves to reveal Narumi Gen — captain of the famed First Division and Japan's (supposedly) Strongest Anti-Kaiju Combatant.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” he screams, tossing off the duvet and stumbling to his bare feet. “I was just about to clear the campaign! You just made me lose all of my progress! Who do you think you are?!”

With every shout, he moves closer, his finger pointed at you furiously and his bloodshot eyes practically bulging from his head.

You answer him by grabbing his BS4 from the floor, lifting it over your head, and slamming it back down where it shatters apart. His shriek this time is so loud and shrill that you truly worry for a moment that your ears may begin to bleed. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” he repeats frantically as he collapses to his knees and tries to carefully pick up the hardware now scattered on the floor of his office, his fingers trembling from the trauma of seeing his most precious possession in pieces. 

But he’s too slow for you. You step past him and kneel down beside the BS4’s exposed motherboard. And then, in one smooth motion, you pull a pair of needle-nosed pliers out of the pocket of your lab coat and drive the jaws straight down where it pierces the fragile, green fiberglass. 

You can only describe Narumi’s resulting wail as a widow’s wail for how devastated it sounds. 

When you stand up and look back down at him, you see the shell of a broken man. He’s hunched over on his knees near your feet. The shattered pieces of his BS4 are loosely clutched in his hands. And if you look closely, you can make out the slight shaking of his shoulders. 

“Who are you?” he rasps, his gaze glued to the remains of his beloved console. “How can you be so cruel?”

“I’m the First Division’s new Head of Operations, bitch,” you smirk down at him, your arms crossed over your chest in satisfaction. The revelation seems to catch his attention because his head shoots up to look at you in shock before anger begins to creep in. 

“You? You’re the new Head of Operations?” he seethes, abandoning his BS4’s carcass to slowly stand. His fists are clenched at his sides and the tick in his jaw is visibly noticeable. 

However, you’re already moving on. You close the distance between you so quickly that Narumi’s fury is momentarily forgotten as he instinctively takes a step back only for you to take one forward. 

His stupor grows worse when your hands come up to cup his jaw. Suddenly, all he can focus on is how warm your touch is and how surprisingly pretty you are, your soft features hiding the heartlessness that lurks underneath. 

The reminder shatters his daze and he stumbles backward and away from your caress. He tries to put as much distance between himself and you as he can, only to trip on his futon and wind up sprawled on his back on top of the haphazardly strewn duvet. 

Not wasting an opportunity to get close to him again and without a second’s hesitation, you follow him and plop yourself down to straddle his torso. A flush breaks out across his cheeks and quickly spreads to the tips of his ears that are peeking out through his messy hair. 

The pink grows a deeper red when you sit up, slightly lifting yourself off of him so that you can further lean over him until only a few inches are separating your face from his. The back of his head is already pressed to the futon, leaving him nowhere to go.

His face feels hot under your fingers as you grip his chin firmly enough that he can’t shake you off this time. Although that seems like something you don’t need to worry about as he appears frozen beneath you. You’re vaguely aware of how his own hands slowly and cautiously drop to rest on the tops of your thighs. 

Yet, where Narumi is clearly flustered by the compromising position that you’ve forced him into, the ability to grasp the grossly inappropriate and unprofessional nature of your interaction is beyond you. There’s a purpose to all of this, which makes it incredibly easy for you to ignore the feeling of his fingers nervously twitching through the fabric of your pants. 

With one hand holding his chin, the other comes up to rest the back of your fingers on his cheek and you can feel how doing so makes him somehow even more tense. The wildness in your eyes has something stirring deep inside of him, which is only made worse by how he’s already missing your weight on his stomach.

He suddenly finds himself fighting the overwhelming urge to slide his hands up to your waist and pull you back down to sit on him. It wouldn’t be that hard. You would probably make a small cry of surprise if he did. He can practically hear it ringing in his ears and it goes straight to his cock, which is quickly growing half-hard.

And then it wouldn’t take much more to move you a little further down until you’re placed right on top of the bulge in his sweatpants. He would use his hold on you to grind your ass down while he bucks his hips up. 

His fantasizing takes a different turn when you slowly begin to lean even closer to his face and his wide eyes drop down to your lips. They look so soft and plush. Your tongue peeks out for just a second before disappearing back into your mouth and he wants nothing more than to chase it with his own.

What would your tongue feel like sliding against his? What would it feel like on his fingers? On his cock? 

Your teeth lightly sink into your bottom lip and he’s genuinely surprised that he doesn’t cum on the spot. 

It’s only your grip on his chin that keeps him from lifting his head to close the gap altogether. Thankfully, you seem to be doing so on your own and his eyes flutter shut, his lips parting slightly in anticipation.

But then his left eye is opening back up against his will as your thumb pulls on the skin just under his eyelid while your index finger lifts the area just below his brow. His right eye opens in confusion, trying to understand what’s going on.

He takes in how your gaze is fixed on his left eye, your head tilting back and forth from side to side curiously, and it slowly sinks in that the slightly manic look that you’re wearing has nothing to do with the kiss he was expecting. All of your interest in him seems to be exclusively tied to his scarlet-colored eyes — the eyes crafted from the retina of Kaiju No. 1.

It feels like someone has doused him in cold water at the realization. 

He can feel his dick softening from the disappointment — but only partially. After all, you’re still straddling him and leaning in close enough that he can feel every one of your exhales on his face. 

“So, these are the Future Sight eyes…” you murmur to yourself, switching your attention over to his right eye and giving it the same inspection that the left received. You hum thoughtfully and Narumi scrambles to find something to say, trying to think of anything that has even the slightest chance of impressing you. 

Before he can start to brag about the kaiju with a 7.4 fortitude level that he neutralized with one shot last week, you’re removing your hands from his face entirely and sighing heavily, a pout forming on the lips that he had just been daydreaming about. You lean back and sit up, dropping your weight fully onto his stomach once again.

You absently rest your palms on his chest and he’s struck by the vivid mental image of you doing the exact same thing if you were to ride him. 

The fantasy comes closer to being real when your hands push down for leverage to readjust how you’re seated. Your attempt to find a more comfortable position has you sliding just a little further down his body. His breath catches in his throat when your knees end up on either side of his waist and your ass meets his lap — and the tent in his pants. 

His fingers instinctively grip your thighs tightly as he bites back the deep groan that’s desperately trying to escape his chest. 

He knows you can feel how hard he is. It’s not like it’s something easy to ignore when you’re sitting right on top of it. Yet the only reaction you have is a slight twitch at the corner of your lips that’s so faint anyone else except for him, the captain of the Defense Force’s strongest division, would have missed it. 

And he also notices that it twitched upward. 

For a brief second, he contemplates using his eyes on you. Activating them would allow him to visualize your brain’s signals, indicating your movements before you made them. Maybe then he would have a better idea of what you’re planning to do. It’s probably against some stupid regulation to use the weapons designed to combat kaiju on another member of the Defense Force, but you’re a much more formidable foe.

However, he then feels you shifting slightly as you get ready to move so that his hard cock is no longer poking your ass and he panics. 

His hands dart up to grab your hips and keep you right where you are. Although you don’t cry out in the way that his ears are yearning to hear, your eyes widen just a fraction, betraying your surprise at his action. 

Knowing that his grip is firm enough to keep you from shaking it off, you instead look curiously over your shoulder and down, your back arching as you check if you can see the hardness directly underneath you. It’s the first clear acknowledgment you make of his arousal. 

Anyone else, everyone else, would be frantically trying to explain away the situation — as if there’s a way to explain away an erection that your coworker is sitting on. But Narumi isn’t anyone else and he finds his mind wandering yet again.

All he can focus on is how your arched back pushes your chest forward. Despite the shapeless lab coat that you’re wearing and how it covers the majority of your body, he can still make out the curves of your tits and how they’re perfectly framed by your upper arms on either side.

What would you look like in just your lab coat?

His thumbs twitch where they’re firmly pressed to your hips with the urge to slip them under the hem of your shirt and feel the warmth of your bare skin directly. If he did, he could easily slide them, and your shirt, up. Once he had it high enough, he could then curl one finger into the front of your bra and pull it down until your tits were spilling from its cups. 

And then all he would have to do is lean up and he could capture a nipple between his wet lips. He could then wind his arms around you beneath your lab coat to splay one hand across the arch in your back, pressing you further into his mouth. By this point, your hands would have moved from his chest to his shoulders where they would be fisting the fabric of his shirt.

He can hear your phantom cries of pleasure in his ears again as his dick starts to ache. 

The bubble bursts when you face forward, your back now hunched over rather than arched. You look deeply unimpressed. Narumi is suddenly and viscerally aware of the thin stream of drool that’s slowly trailing from the corner of his lip and down his jaw where it then meets his neck. 

You notice it as well and lift a hand up to casually wipe his spit away with the pad of your thumb. His mouth opens on its own, instinctively wanting you to slip the spit-slicked digit inside. 

Somehow, the action has you looking even further unimpressed. Rather than sticking it past his parted lips, you wipe your finger clean on the front of his shirt. 

When you meet his gaze, the disinterest that he can see in your eyes and in your expression is crippling. Every fantasy that has been playing out in his head over the past few minutes shatters and comes crashing down around him. 

“Hm, I didn’t think the wielder of the oldest numbered weapon would be so boring,” you finally say with a frown.

His open mouth closes before opening again, only to close and then repeat the cycle as he finds himself unable to respond. His reaction doesn’t help his case.

“...b-boring…?” he repeats, seemingly incapable of understanding the meaning of the word. 

You slap away his hands from your hips and he’s so dazed that he lets you. The insult slowly starts to sink in and his growing indignation soon eclipses every last ounce of arousal.

“Boring?” he angrily cries out and you simply roll your eyes as you stand up. This time when you move off of him, he’s too outraged to miss your weight and warmth. 

“Yes. You bore me,” you tell him pointedly, your hands on your hips as you look down at him where he lays on his back between your feet. He gets the sense that this is exactly how you would be looking at a worm that you saw on the sidewalk before trampling it.

“W-well, if I’m so boring why’d you end up with the First anyway?” he retorts with a glare as he finally sits up. “You’re here because you wanted to be in the presence of Japan’s strongest!”

Your features wrinkle in distaste at the sentiment. 

“You wish,” you scoff as you step off of his futon and take a moment to examine your nails. “The First Division’s base is on the bay and the Third’s by a river. The ocean is way nicer. Simple as that.”

He can only gape up at you, speechless once more. 

You made the biggest decision of your career based on the base’s proximity to the ocean rather than the strength and prestige of the division. A life-changing decision, and you made it on something as superficial as preferring the ocean to a river.

There was no rational thinking involved. There were no thoughtful considerations made. Other than consulting Google Maps, there was no careful research done. 

A decision that you would have to live with for years and you made it based on something as trivial as a body of water.

Simple as that.

Narumi’s heart starts to race and his face grows warm. His palms suddenly feel sweaty and he’s hyper-aware of an unfamiliar fluttering in his stomach. A wide grin slowly stretches across his face.

Before you can walk away, he grabs your ankle.

“Wait! What’s your name?” he asks eagerly. You just smirk down at him and shake off his hand with a kick of your leg before walking away and out of his office without a second glance back at him. 

As he watches you leave, he wonders if the irises of his eyes — which usually morph into crosses when being used as the weapon they are — have now taken the shape of hearts.

He’s ready to collapse back into his futon with an infatuated sigh. He still has the tent in his sweatpants to deal with after all and if anything, it’s only gotten harder. 

But before he can, he catches sight of Hasegawa, who’s standing stoically by the doors of his office. He wonders if the man has been there the whole time and if so, why he didn’t put a stop to the chaos that just played out before him as he’s normally quick to do.

He vaguely notes that his Vice-Captain looks like he does whenever they’re en route to a kaiju attack and he’s reviewing the information available to assess the threat as best he can before engaging. Determination then crosses his severe features, as if he’s steeling himself for some upcoming battle.

The man appears about to take his leave, but Narumi recognizes that he can’t let his only other source on your identity just walk away.

“Hasegawa! Hey, Hasegawa!” Narumi cries out as he sits up on his knees. 

“Yes?” he replies stiffly, steeling himself for whatever is coming.

“Is she single?” He hungrily points in the direction you just went, like there’s any doubt about who the “she” in question is. 

Hasegawa’s entire demeanor abruptly turns icy. His arms slowly cross over his chest — usually a sign that a physical assault is imminent.  

“I’ll remind you, Captain, that the Defense Force highly discourages fraternization between enlisted personnel,” he says. Despite the lack of violence that accompanies the warning, it’s the most threatening that Hasegawa has ever sounded when reprimanding Narumi. 

But all Narumi can think about is how hard he still is and the memory of both your disinterest and your body on top of his as you straddled him. 

“Discourages is not forbids,” he smirks with all of the smugness of someone who believes that he’s found the greatest loophole in the history of mankind. 

Hasegawa’s scarred features contort into a grimace at Narumi’s easy disregard for the admonishment that he just received. Deciding that the best course of action would be to conserve his energy for the fight that he can see on the horizon, he drops his arms to his sides and walks away from his captain. 

“Wait! Tell me her name!” Narumi shouts as he desperately begins to crawl after him. 

Hasegawa suppresses the urge to slap a palm to his forehead in exasperation. He looks over his shoulder at the pathetic sight of the man known across the country as Japan’s strongest on his hands and knees, begging for just a crumb of information. 

“If you regularly checked your email as is your responsibility as First Division Captain, you wouldn’t need to ask,” he scolds him and with Narumi sufficiently distracted, Hasegawa is finally able to escape, closing the doors to the office with a loud slam!

Meanwhile, Narumi scrambles back to his futon to dig through it for his phone. When he finally finds it, it slips out of his grasp due to how sweaty his palms are. It takes a few tries but with fingers that are trembling with excitement, he’s able to unlock his phone and pull up his email.

He frowns in annoyance at the sheer volume of unread messages. As he starts to scroll through them, his eyes hurriedly skimming through the subject lines of each one, he soon realizes that this is like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Doing a quick search for “Head of Operations” pulls up an unopened thread titled, “[URGENT] Start Date: Head of Operations, First Division.” He finds what he’s looking for when he opens it and sees that the latest email is from you, your name appearing in the “from” line.

He slowly says your name aloud, testing it out. He likes the way it tastes on his tongue.

He wonders if your pussy will taste even better when he gets you to sit on his face. 

As he skims the email thread for any further information he can glean, he notices that your responses to the information on your promotion and new assignment are largely in emojis. You seem to have a particular fondness for the red 100 emoji. 

With a contented sigh, he collapses back into his futon. His phone is clutched tightly to his chest and an adoring smile is painted across his lips. 

Rolling over onto his stomach, he rests his chin on a curled fist and returns to his email. Now that he has your name, he happily kicks his feet back and forth in the air and does another search through his inbox for it. He strikes gold when he finds your personnel file attached to a months-old, unopened email. 

But he doesn’t get far in reading through it because at the top of the file, just beneath your name, is your phone number. As soon as he sees it, he saves it in his contacts under: 🍑🙇‍♂️💕🍆💦.

His fingers fly across the screen as he then drafts a new message to you and quickly hits send.

From: Narumi Gen Hey! Go out with me 🙏

He watches the message thread with unblinking eyes, eagerly waiting for the three little dots that indicate that you’re typing to appear at the bottom. When they finally do, the anticipation of what you’ll say is enough to have him salivating all over again.

From: 🍑🙇‍♂️💕🍆💦 ????

From: 🍑🙇‍♂️💕🍆💦 Who dis

He frowns slightly. He’s your new captain. Shouldn’t you already have his number saved in your phone? Rather than letting it ruin his giddiness, he seizes the opportunity that he missed earlier to brag. 

From: Narumi Gen JAPAN’S STRONGEST 💪

He smugly waits for your reply. It takes longer this time for the three dots to appear and he’s positive that it’s because you’re too in awe to respond right away. 

From: 🍑🙇‍♂️💕🍆💦 Oh.

From: 🍑🙇‍♂️💕🍆💦 😒

From: 🍑🙇‍♂️💕🍆💦 Captain boring 🥱

Each reply is like an arrow to his heart. The yawning emoji in particular feels like you’ve taken a knife to his gut with a pretty smile on your lips. Desperation quickly takes hold.

From: Narumi Gen Plz go out with me 

From: Narumi Gen Pretty plz? 🙏

From: Narumi Gen Ur so hot. Plz go out with me 🙇‍♂️

From: Narumi Gen I’ll do literally anything to go out with u 😫

His responses are sent in a flurry one right after another. If he had the ability to feel shame, he would be embarrassed by how increasingly pathetic he sounds with each sent message.

From: 🍑🙇‍♂️💕🍆💦 Nope 🙅‍♀️

From: 🍑🙇‍♂️💕🍆💦 This pussy is closed to losers

From: 🍑🙇‍♂️💕🍆💦 😝

It’s a good thing that he’s already laying down because the one-two punch of being called a loser while also being told that your pussy is off-limits would have had him keeling over. 

From: 🍑🙇‍♂️💕🍆💦 Enjoy taking care of your little problem on your own 🍆✊💦

From: 🍑🙇‍♂️💕🍆💦 Let me know how it goes 😏

He suddenly feels like you’ve breathed new life into him. Does this mean that you’re imagining him jerking off? 

The thought of you thinking of him with his hand pumping his cock has his head spinning. He rolls over onto his back and drops the hand holding his phone by his side as he stares up at the ceiling of his office in a daze. 

Acting almost on its own, his free hand slides down his stomach to slip under the waist of his sweatpants and then the band of his boxer briefs. He can’t help the hiss that escapes him when he wraps his hand around his cock. It’s easy to pretend that it’s your hand that’s pulling it out of his pants instead of his. 

Would you tell him how boring he is even as your hand slowly begins to move up and down his length? Would you be acting like this is a waste of your time? Maybe you’d be jerking him off with one hand and scrolling through your phone with the other. 

His eyes close to aid the fantasy. 

He can hear your voice in his ears, every word dripping with indifference as you tell him to hurry up and cum already so that you can go do something that actually interests you. You would barely even look at him, only glancing at him every so often to check how close he is to finishing. 

When he spits into his hand to help the glide of his palm, he imagines that it’s your hand and remembers how you didn’t shy away from his saliva when you wiped it off of his chin earlier. His fist speeds up its pace as he imagines what it would have looked like if you had popped your thumb into his mouth for him to suck it clean rather than wiping it off on his shirt. 

Or better yet, if you slipped it into your mouth, only removing it once your thumb was free of his spit. 

What would it look like if you spit directly into his mouth? He’s positive that you would purse your lips right over his open and waiting mouth and let your spit delicately drip straight down into it. You wouldn’t let him swallow until you told him that he was allowed to. And then you would reward him with a condescending pat on his cheek and a chaste kiss to his shining lips.

And what if he spits into your mouth? He would have you on your knees for him, lips parted wide open, and tongue stuck out as you waited patiently to taste his cock. He would grab your chin with fingers as firm as yours were on his earlier and just when you began to rub your thighs together, he would spit into your open mouth before making you swallow. 

Would you whine if he told you that you’re a good girl?

He definitely would if you called him a good boy. 

He would whine right into your pussy if you were to tell him how good he was being with his face buried between your thighs, your legs tossed over his shoulders. The words would be broken up between breathless moans as he lapped at your clit, your fingers pulling on his hair to tug his face closer. And he would then start pumping two of his fingers in and out of your pussy, curling them just right, all so that he could hear you say the words again.  

After seeing how little he impresses you, he would give anything for even a scrap of your praise. But he also wants to make you just as desperate for his. 

He wants you sprawled across the top of his messy desk.

He wants you to make it even messier when you cum on his cock as he pounds into you, his balls hitting your ass with each thrust and your ankles dangling by his ears. He’d have your arousal dripping from your pussy and down the crack of your ass to pool on the wooden surface of his fancy desk. 

He’d then slide two of his fingers through the mess before shoving them into your mouth, wordlessly demanding you suck them clean. 

And you would, wouldn’t you?

Because for all of your standoffishness and your seemingly aloof nature, when it comes down to it, you would want to be good for him. 

You would keep his fingers in your mouth until you were gagging on them when he shoved them in deep enough to reach the back of your throat. And even then, you would keep your lips closed around them until he decides to remove them. 

And when he pumps you full of his cum, you would thank him with hazy eyes and an adoring smile. It would mirror the one on his lips when he drops to his knees and pushes open your thighs to watch his cum slowly drip in thick, white gobs out of your sopping pussy to join the growing pool underneath your ass. 

Each mental image that rapidly plays out on the backs of his eyelids pushes him closer and closer to cumming. He can feel the orgasm building in his spine and in his balls, only for his eyes to spring wide open when he remembers your request to keep him updated. 

His phone is still in his sweaty hand, his fingers clutched around it so tightly that if he wasn’t so used to holding his BS4 controller for long periods of time, then they would be aching. He absently sends a silent thank you to whoever invented Face ID because it means he doesn’t have to fumble with a passcode to unlock his phone and pull up the camera. 

As much as it pains him to do so, he pulls his free hand from his weeping cock to yank his shirt up his torso and shove the hem between his teeth. He moans around the fabric when his hand returns back to his cock, giving it a squeeze as he looks down at it through the screen of his phone, trying to angle the camera just right. 

His hand is itching to pick back up its frantic pace up and down his shaft. But he keeps it still just long enough to take a perfectly-framed picture of his hand wrapped around the base of his dick and pre-cum leaking over his fingers. 

He hurriedly hits send and drops his hand holding his phone back to his side. 

However, his hand has only just started moving again when his phone vibrates in the death grip that he has on it. A pathetic, little whine emerges from the back of his throat when he lifts it up and looks at the screen to find that you’ve already replied. 

His toes curl and his hips buck up off the futon as he eagerly opens your message.

From: 🍑🙇‍♂️💕🍆💦 LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOO

That’s all it takes for him to cum with a groan of your name that’s muffled by the shirt hem still shoved in his mouth. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut as his hips give a few jerks, imagining that he’s spilling his cum onto your face instead of into his still-moving hand. 

When he’s finally capable of opening his eyes, he opens the camera on his phone again. With fingers that are tingling from his orgasm, he takes a second picture — this time of his cum-coated fingers and the streaks of white painted across his stomach.

After hitting send, he continues to look at the screen and preens when the three dots almost immediately appear at the bottom. 

From: 🍑🙇‍♂️💕🍆💦 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

A wistful sigh leaves him as spits his shirt out of his mouth and clutches his phone close to his chest, which is still rising and falling rapidly as he pants for air.

“So, this is what love is like,” he muses aloud, a dreamy smile stretched across his lips and absolutely certain that his racing heart has nothing to do with jerking off or the sticky mess coating his hand and stomach.

[clockwork-ashes]

Day 7 - Free Day

Note: thank you to the lovely mods of @erisweekofficial for such an amazing event!!! i had so much fun, and i can’t wait to catch up on all the wonderful creations <3

Summary: Eris no longer wants to ignore the connection he feels with Cora (one-shot). All 7 (!!!) of my eris week one-shots can be read on Ao3 <3

Another Note: cora is an OC who heavily features in my elucien multichapter fic! she acts as elain’s lady’s maid while she’s stuck in the autumn court, but her and eris became very close ;) this can be read as a standalone, it’s just a spicy little one-shot <3

All You Have Is Your Fire taglist: @sad-scarred-sassy / @teddyhoneybear / @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds /

Join me tonight.

Eris had whispered the words against the smooth arch of Cora’s pointed ear. His lips had brushed the skin lightly, a promise of what could be if only she agreed. His head had been bowed, shoulders curled towards her as if he had been pulled closer by an invisible thread. She had slipped from his grasp, water through his fingers, her dark skirts trailing in a river of fabric as she walked away. 

Impress me, and perhaps I will. 

Her rich voice had echoed in the empty corridor as she had chased the sound of the orchestra’s music. Cora had moved like a predator, silent and precise, each of her steps graceful. She was a queen, royalty in hiding. 

Eris had been given no choice but to follow her, an amused tilt to his mouth. She had smelled of spruce trees and mountain air, her scent lingering on the velvet of his jacket the entire evening. It had been a welcome distraction. He had, for the first time in weeks, forgotten about the mess his younger brother had gotten himself into. 

Lucien had danced with his mate, Elain having managed to impress the vicious courtiers of Autumn with little more than a practised spin. Cora had spent most of the night at Eris’s side, drinking wine in small sips and glancing at him over the rim of her glass. The tension between them could have been cut with an ash-tipped knife, a near irresistible desire had made it difficult for him to focus, but he had tried his best.

Time had moved slow as honey, and when Elain and Lucien left the ballroom holding arms as though they were in love, Eris decided he would not be staying either. He offered Cora his hand, not really expecting her to reach out. She linked their smallest fingers together in a gesture Eris found both surprising and endearing, winnowing them into a different part of the Forest House with very little effort. 

“We stop at my chambers next,” Eris warned, wanting to make it abundantly clear what he wanted, hoping Cora felt the same. She was hard to read, her brown eyes revealing nothing. 

She looked up at him with a raised brow, one of her hands resting on her hip in a way that accentuated her figure beneath the conservative dress she wore. “You’ve changed your mind, prince?” There was a challenge in her tone, as if she would have argued had he suggested such a thing. 

Eris shrugged, feigning indifference. “Don’t feel obligated, I would hate for you to feel…used.” While his words might have sounded cold, he meant them. He was fully aware of her position as a lady’s maid, and of the fact that she served another High Lord. He recognised the power he possessed, and he did not wish to coerce Cora into his bed. 

Instead of responding, she took a measured step towards him so that their toes were nearly touching. There was an angry twist to her mouth as she lifted a hand and brought it to his lapel. She adjusted the fold, her fingers toying with a button on his shirt. 

Eris felt as the breath caught in his throat, desire thrumming in his bones, barely leashed. He wanted to see her long hair wrapped around his fist, to feel her body against his own, and to hear the sounds she made while in the throes of pleasure. 

Cora smiled, the expression looking more like she was baring her teeth. White as bone and sharp as a knife, her canines flashed in the dim lighting of the hallway. “I don’t answer to you, Eris Vanserra, first son of Autumn.” 

At the sound of his name falling from her lips, Eris closed the distance between them. Eyes shut and the sweet taste of her against his tongue was overwhelming. She clutched his jacket, using him for balance as he threaded desperate fingers through her hair, keeping her in place for better access. 

Cora gasped, her soft moan muffled as he deepened the kiss, winnowing them both to his bedroom in a flurry of dancing embers. He fisted the fabric of her skirts, searching to feel the skin of her thighs, their newfound privacy making him bold. Her hands were locked around his neck as she fought for dominance, nipping at his bottom lip in warning. 

Eris moved to the skin below her jaw, taking pleasure in the way she pulled on his jacket, urging him to take it off. He threw it to the floor, untying the cloth at his throat with quick fingers. He briefly wondered if she would let him use the piece of fabric in other ways, but all his thoughts scattered at the way she tugged at the strands of hair on the nape of his neck. He moaned appreciatively, encouraging her to be as rough as she wished. 

Eris trailed his lips along her collarbone, licking and biting at the exposed skin of the tops of her breasts. He was hard, he noticed, his length pressing painfully against the seam of his pants. He yanked at the laces tied carefully at the back of her dress and she arched into him with a sigh. 

“Cora,” he murmured, her name unbelievably familiar as it rolled off his tongue. He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes still shut as he swallowed. “Cora, tell me to stop.” 

The Night Court female brought a hand to his cheek, running her thumb along the sharp plane of his face. He ached all over, his muscles tense as he waited for her consent once again. “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered, tugging his head back down. 

Eris smiled against her lips, grabbing the backs of her thighs to lift her into his arms. Cora hooked her legs around his waist, her slippers falling to the floor to join his discarded jacket. He nearly stumbled on the edge of the carpet as he carried her to his bed. 

They fell in a tangled heap onto the mattress, his arousal hard against her core. She ripped at his shirt, buttons hitting the ground like rain water. Each of their actions was desperate, as if they had been drowning and were coming up for air. Eris moved her skirts, adjusting the fabric so that he had better access to the space between her legs. Cora tilted her hips up, giving him the permission he needed. He gave her no warning as he slipped two fingers between her slick folds. She hummed in approval, grabbing his wrist to show him what she liked. 

He continued to move his fingers at the pace she set, using his magic to strip them of the rest of their clothes. Eris pulled away, wanting to get a better look at her. Cora made a low sound of objection, clearly not wanting him to stop. While the thought satisfied him, his overwhelming need to see her was stronger. 

There was a scarlet flush to her brown cheeks, her straight hair a tangled mess along his pillows. Her pupils were blown wide and her lips were swollen. She took Eris in hungrily, her dark eyes falling to his length almost involuntarily. 

“Beautiful,” Eris said softly, loud enough for her to hear. 

Heat blazed in her gaze, and the candles on the nightstand flared brightly in response to the inferno raging inside him. Cora reached for him, her palms skimming his shoulders to once again rest on his neck. Eris hovered above her until she pulled him closer, arching her back so that she could press herself fully against him while they kissed. He groaned, his grip on her leg tightening as he carefully angled the tip of his length at her entrance. 

Before Eris could give her the option of going slow, Cora has already shifted, taking more of him suddenly. She moaned into his mouth, Eris gasping at the feeling of her walls around him. He moved inside her, and she gave herself over completely to the steady rhythm he had set. 

Cora’s fingers fell lower on his back, her nails dragging against the skin. He felt the way she tensed beneath him, and nearly hit his head against the bed frame in his rush to move away from her. If something was wrong, if she wanted to stop—

Cora did not let go of him, her strong legs keeping him in place. She looked up at him, the question bright as starlight on her lovely features. Eris belatedly realised that she was tracing the length of a long scar with the tip of her finger. He relaxed into her arms, pressed his face into the crook of her neck so he would not need to face her. “Lashes,” he said against her skin, his movements becoming more desperate as he neared his climax.

Punishments.

Eris did not need to say it out loud, but he could practically sense understanding wash over her. Her touch instantly became more gentle as she took his chin in her hands to tilt his head in a way where he could look up at her. Cora brushed her thumb along his bottom lip. “Beautiful,” she murmured, kissing him sweetly, stunning him into silence. She was careful with her touches, handling him with care, as if he were easily breakable. 

Eris felt drunk, desire fogging his thoughts. He continued to move at the pace he had set, her hips meeting his with every movement. He brought his one hand back between her legs, stroking in time with his thrusts, wanting her to break first. 

“Eris,” she gasped, his name uttered in a strangled moan. He felt her walls clench around him, pressing his hips flush against hers as he saw stars. Her pleasure was enough to bring him to the edge. He bit down on his tongue, tasting copper as he stifled a cry. 

They stayed tangled together for a moment, Cora’s legs still wrapped around his waist loosely as he remained seated inside her. There was blood rushing to his ears, and her heart was beating rapidly, perfectly matching the rhythm of his own. Eris moved first, falling onto the mattress beside her with all his weight. The ragged sounds of their breathing broke the silence, but neither of them spoke. 

For the first time in centuries, Eris had let someone share his bed as he slept, unguarded. The night carried, and his rest was dreamless. When he woke in the morning, Cora was already gone. 

[anonymousewrites]

Of Two Worlds (Book 2) Chapter Two

Fushiguro Megumi x Half-Curse! Reader

Chapter Two: Seal

Summary: Gojo is sealed, and the sorcerers are left on the other side of the curtain.

            The Prison Realm split into more pieces, and its bindings wrapped around Gojo. He growled and tried to pull away, but a sinking feel in his stomach told him it was no use. Furious, Gojo’s cold eyes glared icy daggers at Geto, who just smirked condescendingly.

            “C’mon now, Satoru. Are you letting your mind wander during a fight?” teased Geto cruelly.

            Gojo narrowed his eyes. “So…who are you?”

            “Geto Suguru, of course. Did you forget? How sad.” Geto pouted sarcastically.

            “Your body…even your cursed energy. My six eyes tell me you’re Geto Suguru. But my soul knows otherwise! Hurry up and answer! Who the hell are you?!” demanded Gojo furiously.

            “Yeesh.” Geto reached up and pulled a thread around his stitches. The top of his head detached and revealed a curse-like brain as he grinned. “How’d you know?”

            “Anyone with sense could figure it out,” said the woman, scoffing.

            Not-Geto shrugged. “And yet no one has. Well, no one other than yourself and Gojo here.” He smirked at the trapped, white-haired man. “I have a nice little cursed-technique that allows me to hope between bodies by switching brains. Of course, it lets me use this body’s innate techniques as well. You didn’t have Ieri Shoko personally get rid of Geto Suguru’s body, did you?” He redid the stitches on his head. “You’re only considerate during such awkward moments. Thanks to that, I was able to obtain this body without much trouble. But don’t worry. The seal will be over soon enough. In a hundred…no, maybe a thousand years.” Not-Geto sighed. You know, you’re just too strong. You’re in the way of my plans.”

            Gojo chuckled. “You don’t remember? Before that body was killed by me, remember who beat it up?”

            “Okkotsu Yuuta, huh?” murmured Not-Geto. “I really don’t get what everyone sees in him. His ability to copy cursed techniques, and his boundless cursed energy. Both are results of him having to detain his loved one’s soul. Sorry to say, but…Okkotsu Yuuta can’t become the next Gojo Satoru.” He grinned sadistically and leaned in conspiratorially. “Besides, the only student of yours I’m interested in seeing is the Halfling.” Gojo’s eyes widened while the curse user rolled her eyes in what looked like disgust. “Goodnight, Gojo Satoru. Let us meet again in the new world.”

l

            “Nanami-san, reports are coming in that the transfigured humans who were waiting inside the building are now attacking non-sorcerers,” said Ijichi, looking at his superior.

            “So our orders are to end our standby and attack. This delay can’t be helped since we can only react after an incident occurs,” said Nanami. He began taking off his suit jacket. “What’s most concerning though…”

            “The abrupt appearance of a curtain prohibiting sorcerers from entering as soon as Gojo ran in,” finished Megumi darkly.

            I wonder if I could have gone through, thought (Y/N) as she pulled her gloves up tightly over her wrists. Ever since her fight against Ryo, she not only had crescent moons staining her skin but half-moons as well. But her gloves still hid them, and she was too afraid to tell anyone, so until the cloth was ripped from her hands, no one would know (Y/N) had them. No one would know another mark of her inhumanity had appeared.

            “It’s been some time since Gojo-sensei arrived. So why now?” asked Megumi.

            “Either something happened, or it was done specified time as part of a strategic plan,” said Nanami. “What we can say for sure…is that they wouldn’t move without a plan.” He turned to the students. “I’ll head for the enemy responsible for the curtains. You three do your best to rescue the civilians.”

            “Right!”

            Lunar Cycle: New Moon. Twin silvery blades shimmered into (Y/N)’s hands, and she gripped them tightly. It was time to fight.

l

            The masked curse user glanced at the clock. “I’m leaving. I have other things to attend to, and I need to change.”

            Mahito cackled. “Changing before a battle? How vain.”

            The woman raised an eyebrow. “I am wearing a sexy witch outfit which is highly impractical for a fight. And just because you’re comfortable wearing a trash bag doesn’t mean I am.”

            Mahito scowled and looked at Not-Geto. He just waved his hand. “She is needed elsewhere, and we have some time before any sorcerers make it here.” Not-Geto smirked. “And I suspect she wants to look her best for our guest.”

            The curse user rolled her eyes and tsked before walking away. Keep gloating, curses. It makes everything easier.

            “Well, she’s obviously leaving, and I’m staying here.” Not-Geto looked at his associates. “What about you guys?”

            “To avenge my brothers, I’ll kill Itadori Yuuji, Kugisaki Nobara, and (L/N) (Y/N),” said Choso darkly. “Then I’ll head to Jujutsu High to retrieve the rest of my brothers.”

            “I don’t know who Kugisaki is, but Itadori and (L/N) are off limits,” said Jogo. “We’re going to turn him into Sukuna, and (L/N)…” He frowned and glanced at Not-Geto. “Well, you need her for something, right.”

            Not-Geto nodded. “We’d lose something valuable if we were to kill her.”

            “You really think we can get her on our side?”

            “It’s a possibility now that Gojo’s out of the way. After all, her execution will be pushed through now,” said Not-Geto. “And, of course, there are other incentives, as you know.”

            “I don’t care,” hissed Choso.

            “To be honest, I want to kill Itadori and the Halfling, too,” said Mahito, grinning.

            Not-Geto shrugged. “Do as you will, but don’t blame me if anything happens when you risk yourself. I doubt Itadori or the Halfling will go down without a fight, and they’re considered dangerous for a reason.”

l

            Nanami, Ino, Megumi, and (Y/N) fought their way through transfigured humans who were attacking non-sorcerers all around. The civilians were running every which way, but the main theme was that they were getting far away from the subway.

            ��NANAMIN!” A powerful shout came from the top of a building nearby.

            (Y/N) and Megumi blinked. Itadori?

            “Nanamin?” wondered Ino. Nanami deadpanned.

            “NANAMI, ARE YOU THERE?!” Itadori had no idea if anyone could hear him or his message from the little Mechamaru, but he had to try. “GOJO-SENSEI HAS BEEN SEALED!”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, as did every sorcerer who heard the announcement. Gojo…sealed? It seemed unbelievable, and it nearly was. Gojo was the strongest sorcerer. And now he was sealed, meaning the most powerful player on their side was out of the game.

            “Sealed?!” gasped Megumi.

            “You three, change of plan.” Nanami recovered from his shock and worry quickly. “We must join Itadori-kun at once. If he’s really been sealed…it’s all over. For all humans in this country.” The dire circumstances sunk into Megumi and (Y/N)’s hearts. They needed to win, to fight.

            “Nue!” Megumi summoned his Shikigami, and while Nanami and Ino raced up the stairs of the building Itadori was screaming from, he pulled (Y/N) close so Nue could fly them up.

            “Nanamin! Nanamin!” Itadori was still shouting over and over.

            “Hey. Hey, dude.” Itadori just kept so screaming, so Megumi whacked him upside the head.

            Itadori pivoted and smiled in relief. “Fushiguro! (L/N)! Nanamin! And…who?”

            “Itadori, what happened?” asked (Y/N).

            Itadori showed them the tiny Mechamaru and explained that he was helping them. “Geto Suguru sealed Gojo Satoru.”

            “Geto did it?” Nanami furrowed his brow. He died last year…

            “Technically, someone acting as Geto. Shibuya Station is in pandemonium right now. From the special grades and the cursed spirits he brought along to the curse users supporting him and the transfigured humans and civilians…” Mechamaru didn’t have to finish the statement for them to understand the havoc beneath them.

            “Then attacking from the nearby stations does indeed make sense, but in order for that to work, we must lift the curtain first,” said Nanami.

            “This is an emergency, we’ll have to multitask,” said Mechamaru.

            Nanami narrowed his eyes and looked at the students standing in front of him. “There are several things only a Grade 1 sorcerer like me can request. I’ll head outside and take care of it with Ijichi. In the meantime, I’d like for you four to do something about the curtain that’s prohibiting sorcerers from entering. Ino.” The boy jumped down. “Kusakabe and Supreme Grade 1 Sorcerer Zenin should be inside the curtain as well. If you meet up with them, please explain the situation and ask for their help.

            “Got it!” said Ino.

            “Also…I’m leaving these three in your care.” Nanami turned to go back down the building’s stairs, but no before putting a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder as he passed, a small gesture to say “Stay alert. Stay safe.” She nodded curtly. She wasn’t going down tonight.

            “Ino?” asked Itadori, looking at the sorcerer who was looking out over Shibuya.

            Ino pivoted and pointed at them proudly. (He was honored by Nanami giving him this role). “Before we start the mission, let’s make sure you understand the importance. Starting with the two problems if Gojo disappears! Number One: The Gojo family will fall from power. The Gojo family is a one-man team of Gojo Satoru. Gojo’s so accommodating (selfish) that he has saved many a sorcerer. Itadori, (L/N), you are just two of them. So, think of all those people who will become nuisances to the authorities and, in a worst-case scenario, might be killed!”

            “Our executions might be pushed through…” murmured (Y/N), crossing her arms. Gojo was the only reason they didn’t kill me for being half curse. Now there’ll be nothing stopping them.

            Megumi narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. The image of (Y/N)’s dead body flashed through his mind, and his heart clenched. (Y/N) forever missing from his life was too unbearable a thought. Silently, he vowed to himself to fight and protect her. It doesn’t matter what happens as long as she’s alright.

            “Number Two!” continued Ino. “The balance of power will collapse. There are those who have stayed in the shadows because of his existence. Curse users and cursed spirits will both make their moves. While we sorcerers are squabbling with the first issue, what would happen if we get into a small-scale war against those two groups? We’d lose! Nanami and I both think that’s what’ll happen.”

            Itadori swallowed nervously. “And if we do lose?”

            “The Age of Humans might be over,” said (Y/N) darkly.

            “So, you do get it,” said Ino, grinning. “Then let’s get to it! We’ll destroy that curtain before Nanami comes back! We’ll rescue Gojo Satoru!”

l

            A ways away, four figures stood on top of building, keeping three glowing nails safe. They grinned as they heard the pink-haired boys original shouts.

            “Did you hear that, Awasaka? Gojo has been sealed,” said an old lady, rubbing her hands over traditional beads. “Intel was leaked to the enemies.”

            “That’s good news, Granny Ogami,” said Awasaka, his large mustache bristling as he smiled cruelly. “Things are finally starting to get interesting. So…Gojo Satoru really did get sealed. How exciting. I wonder what will happen with this country.”

            “Nothing will happen,” said a tall, lanky man, standing dutifully next to Ogami.

            “We will curse and be cursed and die,” said the shorter, stouter woman on the other side.

            “Grandchildren, Awasaka, make sure you’re ready for the little sorcerers to arrive,” said Ogami. “It may take them some time to identify our location, but we must be ready to strike first when they do.”

            “Yes, Grandmother,” intoned the lanky man and stout woman, bowing to the old curse user.

l

            (Y/N) and Itadori reared back and, with their superhuman strength, smashed into the curtain. Even against their combined power, it didn’t even crack.

            “No luck. It won’t budge,” said (Y/N), shaking out her fist and taking her dagger back from Megumi, who was politely holding them for her.

            “G-Good try.” Ino was sweating at the display of pure strength from the teens. Seriously? If we’re talkin’ straight power, Itadori might be on Nanami’s level. And (L/N)…Well, even without cursed energy she’s superhuman.

            “It’s an incredibly sturdy curtain,” huffed Megumi, glancing back at where his Divine Dog was munching on tiny curses. “We have to find a weak spot and try to make a hole there. There’s no point if we can’t even get inside.”

            “What? Why?” asked Itadori, watching as (Y/N), without stopping listening to them, sliced a curse in half with an elegant arc of her wrist.

            “Because…this curtain is prohibiting sorcerers from entering. It’s a barrier. Barriers are for protection and providing cover, right? In theory, the one who cast the curtain should be inside,” said Ino.

            “No,” said (Y/N), shaking her head. “They are outside. To balance the strong barrier, there must be equal risk to them.”

            “It makes sense…But that completely ignores the basics of barrier techniques! Some crazy person planned that,” said Ino.

            “Crazy or genius? We could have spent hours trying to find the weak point,” said Megumi. “But we won’t have to know. To trade for such a strong curtain, they must be somewhere obvious.”

            (Y/N) raised a hand and pointed at Shibuya C Tower. “Like that?”

            Itadori grinned and punched his fist. “I think that’s exactly what he means.”

            “Alright then,” said Ino, stretching for a moment. “All we have to do is take out the cursed objects holding it up. We can just avoid the curse users.” He looked at Megumi. “Fushiguro, summon Nue and take us up.”

            “Right,” said Fushiguro.

            Nue picked up (Y/N) by its claws, and Ino and Itadori clambered onto its back.

            “(Y/N), be careful,” said Megumi. He knew she could fight and had grown significantly stronger recently, but he would still feel better reminding her. And after Gojo was sealed, who knew how strong Not-Geto’s associates were.

            (Y/N) nodded. “Stay alert, Megumi.”

            “Hey! What about us?!” cried Ino and Itadori as Nue ascended into the sky.

            “You two are idiots,” deadpanned Megumi, turning around.

            Itadori grumbled and pulled out a length of wire Maki had given him. “What do you guys say we try to tie someone up with this? Take out a curse user and distract them at the same time.”

            “I think that’s a great idea,” said Ino, grinning.

            “I think my arms hurt,” said (Y/N) from where Nue held her.

            She held her daggers tightly as Nue released her, and she rolled onto the roof while Ino and Itadori jumped off and wound the wire around the tall, lanky man and Awasaka. The pair sprang out of the way, but Ino took the distraction and glanced at where three nails were in the ground. Or, where one now lay. Two were missing already. (Y/N) spotted them in the Awasaka’s hands and sped towards him, but Itadori got there first, trapping him in wires. Nue held the other end while Itadori jumped off the roof. It left (Y/N) and Ino looking at Ogami and her two bodyguards.

            “Grandchildren,” said Ogami.

            “Yeah, we got this, Grandma,” said the man.

            “You don’t have to worry,” said the woman.

            “Well, then, let’s get the party started. Got to show my kouhai what it means to be a Grade 1 sorcerer,” said Ino, grinning and pulling down his beanie.

            “We’ve been recommended, too,” said (Y/N) blankly.

            Ino deadpanned sadly. “Aw, really? Well that ruins everything.” He glanced at the approaching pair and saw no cursed energy or weapons. “(L/N), help Itadori and Fushiguro. The guy down below seems strong, so they’ll need your help.”

            “Right.” (Y/N) nodded, and without any hesitation, she damn near threw herself off the roofs and dug her daggers into the side to slow herself down as she went.

            On the roof, Ogami began chanting, pressing her hands together, twining the beads around her wrists. Ino summoned his Auspicious Beasts and began his fight against the woman and man. Neither was a particular hard opponent, but they were resilient, and every time he got close to Ogami, they’d move in front.

            They’re getting battered for her. Just what is going on? wondered Ino.

            Cursed energy began suddenly flowing around the grandchildren.  “We’re all set.”

            “We know, Grandma,” said the woman as she took out two pills and handed one to the man. They swallowed while Ino sent Kaichi forward to stab them before anything could happen. The cursed energy swelled in power.

            “Toji Zenin. (L/N) (M/N).”

[only-lonely-stars]

A Bride for the Prince (Chapter 6 - Hide and Seek)

[Prologue] // [Chapter 5 of 9] // [Chapter 6 of 9 - you are here!] // [Chapter 7 of 9] – (FFN) (AO3)

Part of the @ninjago-fairy-tale-au!

Summary:

Once upon a time, there lived a faithful and hardworking girl named Pixal Borg, who worked every day to satisfy her demanding stepmother. For years, she cleaned and cooked, giving no argument, until the day came when she met the prince. A Pixane Cinderella retelling.

Chapter summary:

The third day of the festival arrives, and Zane asks an important question.

On the third day of the festival, Pixal acted as she had the two days prior, her family none the wiser. The previous night, she had concocted a plan for her day, and she was determined to see it through.

As first order of business, she helped her stepmother and sisters prepare for the festival and saw them off. Columbine and Begonia spat yet more biting remarks about Pixal and how they were to catch the prince's eye, but Pixal shrugged them off. Unbeknownst to them, they meant nothing to her; the prince could not care less.

As they were about to leave, Amaryllis stopped Pixal in her tracks just as she was about to turn and go back to her basement room.

"Pixal, wait."

"Yes, Stepmother?" Pixal asked, dread roiling in her stomach as her traitorous mind told her every way Amaryllis could have learned her secret.

"I want you to be studious in your cleaning today," Amaryllis said. "Prince Zane may show interest in one of your stepsisters yet today, and should that be the case, I will not be shamed by a dirty home."

Pixal faltered for a moment. "I understand."

"See to it that the estate is spotless!" her stepmother continued. "I have not missed how things have deteriorated in my absence. Scrub until even the floors shine."

"I will," Pixal responded, the lie sitting on her tongue with its coppery taste. "Enjoy the festival."

"We will," her stepmother retorted. Then Amaryllis turned and left, entering her carriage and settling herself between her bickering daughters. Within mere minutes, Pixal was alone once again, and the next part of her day's plan could begin.

For her second task, Pixal pilfered another forgotten gown from one of her sisters' closets and donned it. This gown was unlike either previous one, having more fabric and detailing than either, and it flattered her figure such that she scarcely recognized her reflection.

The gown was a pale blue, embroidered with white and green thread in an intricate pattern on the skirt and sleeve hems. Pixal twirled in front of the mirror, watching the hem as it swirled and turned. Unlike the others, this dress was quite low-necked, yet not so low as to be uncomfortable nor too revealing– completely ladylike in all aspects, but so lovely that Pixal scarcely believed either sister could discard it. However, that worked to her benefit, so she thanked them for it. After she was satisfied with her choice, she donned her snowflake necklace and did her hair, making her appearance into that of a proper lady.

There was but one final addition to her person. It was a blue scarf the color of ice, made of a gauzy fabric, which Pixal set in her pocket for later use. It had belonged to her mother, Astrid, and she had almost forgotten about it after Begonia had snatched it for herself when they were children. Now, however, she would be taking it back.

As the third and final step in her plan, she needed to transport herself to the festival. Pixal took her spellbook and another bunch of herbs and prepared her spell, creating the plume of sparkling smoke with which she had become so familiar. She stepped in without reserve, boldly facing the smoke as it enveloped her, but then stopped short on the other side.

Despite everything being identical to the previous day, at least to her knowledge, Pixal was nowhere near the pavilion where she had found herself the previous two days. Instead, she was by the jousting arena, across the festival grounds. While the location was not as it had been the previous two days, it would be workable.

A smile made its presence known on her face as she reasoned through the matter. If things progressed today as they did the previous two, then this was the most convenient place to be when she returned, since she could stay to watch the tournament. Perhaps she would be able to watch the evening jousting and see the prince there! Then she could give him a favour and somehow be able to watch him joust with it, showing it off to all those who attended.

Once she realized how her thoughts had turned, embarrassment filled her. The prince was not a quarry for her to pursue, and she knew that very well. She had to remember that he was simply someone with whom to share the last day of the festival. She would not delude herself into thinking that she could somehow cultivate a real relationship with him, nor develop feelings. That would end poorly and painfully. As such, she would not allow herself to hurt either of them in such a manner.

After hiding the spellbook, Pixal wondered what she should do next. It was most logical for her to return to the pavilion where she had met Prince Zane both days prior, to continue the pattern. It was a fair walk from the arena, although manageable, and would not be a hardship. By all reasonable estimation, she would have to travel quickly if she were to get there as early as she had been the day prior, so she did not delay in beginning her trek.

As she had suspected, the time it took Pixal to walk to the pavilion was long enough to throw off her timing from the prior day. When she reached it, however, she found it just as it had been the two previous days, filled with whirling colors and people. Though she found it less tempting, it was nevertheless still enticing, and she considered joining the dancers for a few moments. She searched the crowd and saw no sign of the fair-haired prince, and her heart sank.

Pixal looked everywhere in the nearby area, but did not see Zane. Her heart sank the longer she searched, but she did not allow it to discourage her, and searched more carefully. A little while later and after seeing her distress, an organizer for the festival came up to her and cleared her throat.

"Pardon me, young lady. Are you looking for someone?" the woman asked, her gravelly voice sounding aged.

Pixal turned in surprise, then nodded. "Yes ma'am."

"Might I be of some assistance?" the woman asked, silver hair close to falling in her face as she smiled.

"Perhaps." Pixal smiled self-consciously and looked down, a light blush dusting her cheeks. "I fear you would judge me for my answer."

"Nonsense, dearie. Tell me about your trouble."

"Very well." Pixal looked up to meet the woman's gaze. "I'm looking for his Highness, Prince Zane. I had the pleasure of meeting him the previous two days, but not today, and I expected to find him here."

The woman nodded knowingly. "Of course. Every marriageable lady here seeks to meet him– that is understandable."

"It isn't like that!" Pixal protested, raising her hands. "I simply wish to talk to him– I know he would never consider me, nor I him."

The woman hummed in contemplation. "Ah, very well. I can help you, young lady, but you must help me first."

"What kind of help do you require?" Pixal asked. "I can do whatever you need."

The woman beckoned her near. "Come with me, and I will tell you. If you are so considerate of the prince, then I'm sure you will be very happy to help me with this task…"

-----

On the third day of the festival, Prince Zane found himself anxious as he waited for the day to begin, unable to focus due to his preoccupation.

He woke early in the morning, fretting about how best to present himself. He washed himself in freezing water, dressed, and visited the memorial to his brother. The sun was barely risen, but he left the castle anyway, eager to supervise and perfect everything before the time came for him to meet up with Lady Pansy.

For several hours, Zane burned the time he had by working, hoping to ease his nerves. Despite everything that would assuage him, he found himself adrift on a sea of anxiety, so incredibly unlike himself. He tried to reason through it, and for a little while it worked, but only so long as he did not stop to think about Pansy.

When the time came, Zane rushed to the pavilion, although doing his utmost not to appear too quick to arrive. His heart beat loudly in his chest, louder with every step, every breath feeling colder even as he grew warmer and warmer.

When he arrived, however, Pansy was not there.

Concern worked its way into the prince's mind as he searched, looking into the crowd of dancers as he tried to catch a glimpse of her fair hair. Where was Lady Pansy? From what he could tell, it was not her habit to be tardy.

Perhaps he had come too early. They had not set a time to meet, and he had been awake since before dawn.

The city clock tower struck ten, discarding that idea. It was not too early, for this what when they had met the day before. Still, he did not find her.

After a little while of searching, Zane went to explore the near area, hoping to spot her. As he went farther from the pavilion, the sound of the music faded, replaced with speech and children's laughter, distracting yet not unpleasant. The latter grew louder as he walked, and Zane stopped to look at its source.

A hundred feet from him, a crowd of children laughed and cheered, having been playing games. They crowded around each other and pushed toward several adults who supervised. These adults were giving them treats- candied fruit, toys, flowers and more.

As Zane watched, he smiled. Then, his heart began to race, as he noticed one of the adults had the fairest hair he'd seen that day. The woman turned to speak to some children in his direction, and Zane knew immediately that it was Lady Pansy. She smiled and spoke to the children, giving them treats and paying compliments that sent them into happy peals of laughter. When her basket of gifts was empty, she put it aside and spoke to an old woman with gray hair, who dismissed her.

Pansy turned, but then paused as she caught sight of Zane. She smiled, and Zane had to smile back. Cautious of the children under foot, he approached her, and when he reached her, he kissed her hand.

"Lady Pansy. I was wondering where I might find you," he greeted.

She smiled, embarrassed. "My apologies, your Highness. I did not intend to make the task difficult for you."

"It was no issue for me," he replied, already putting his trouble finding her behind himself in favor of the current moment. "You are a lover of children?"

"I am. They have such potential," Pixal replied, glancing at the children playing with a smile.

"They do." Zane smiled back. "I take it that you volunteered to help?"

"Madame Mystake asked for my help, and I could not say no." Zane's smile made Pixal feel lighter than air, and she did her best to hide just how happy it made her feel. "Do you love children, too?"

"I do, though I fear I am not as capable with them as you are, my lady."

"Perhaps so, perhaps not." Pixal looked off into the distance, in the direction of the dancing pavilion. The sun reflected off her snowflake necklace, and its appearance brought a smile to Zane's lips. "There have been many things during this festival that I am not accustomed to."

"The same is true for me. A festival of this magnitude is rare." He offered his arm. "Perhaps, if I might be so bold, you would accompany me for its final day?"

"I would be honored, Prince Zane," Pixal said, taking it.

"You may call me by my given name if it makes you comfortable, Lady Pansy."

"You wish for me to call you such?"

"Indeed."

"Then you may call me by mine, Zane."

The two shared a smile. "Very well, Pansy." With that, the two set off.

-----

For several hours, the two walked and talked, just as they had the previous two days. They spoke of many things, not the least of which family and love, although never in such terms as toward the other. Throughout the day, they spoke of all lovely things, and shared many anecdotes from their lives. Questions were frequent, and answers were entertaining. However, Pixal felt as though she could not truly share some things, for shame of her true position in her household, so she carefully told her stories as to not betray her status.

Despite Pixal's carefulness with her stories, however, she found herself ever closer to the prince. For the majority of their time together, they walked arm in arm or side by side- if not those, then they sat right next to each other, no farther than a few feet apart. Their tendency toward connection was unmistakable.

As their day passed, Zane took mental note of the qualities he saw in Lady Pansy. She was reserved, yet had interesting opinions and did not hesitate to speak her mind. She was clever and wise, yet did not boast in herself. She was hardworking, yet gentle, and though strong, not brash. In every aspect, he saw the most remarkable things, and in such fell deeper into admiration for her.

As the sun reached its zenith, high above the earth, Zane knew it was time to ask her one of the most utilitarian of his questions. Thus, as they sat together underneath a maple, he brushed her hand with his to catch her attention.

At the touch, Pixal turned to look at him. He seemed anxious to some degree, though she could not fathom why.

"Pansy," he began, his usual surety missing from his voice.

"Zane? What is the matter?"

"I must ask you a question, though I fear I should have asked this earlier of you."

"I am sure your timing is no issue," Pixal assured him. "What is your question?"

Zane felt chilled, but pressed on despite how belligerent he felt, and took her hand in his. "Pansy, if I may be so bold as to ask, you have not told me your family name. Might I know what it is?"

For a brief moment, Pixal's heart stopped. "You wish to know my family name?" she clarified.

"If you would let me know it, yes. I wish to know of your family."

Pixal could not meet his eyes, her mind racing. "I do not mean to assume, but Zane- Prince Zane- there would be but one reason for asking in this context. You couldn't possibly mean such a thing. It does not make sense."

"I know what such a question means." He sought out her gaze. "Lady Pansy, you are a most remarkable woman. It is a pleasure to simply know you, despite how slim our time has been. I would think no more nor less of you for your name."

"No, you most certainly would think differently." She broke away from him again. "I cannot tell you. You cannot know."

Zane's heart sank. "Pansy…" he uttered, the name sounding like a plea.

Pixal's heart clenched in her chest, the sudden reality of emotion clearer than a summer sky, her mind the eye of the storm. "Zane, you are a prince. My prince. If you are to- to consider a lady, she should be from some high and respectable station! I have no such thing."

"I do not care for station! Neither does my father." Zane took her hand in both of his. "Pansy, he declared this festival such that I might meet someone fitting, regardless of background."

"That matters little to me, either, but you would not find a proper lady in me, should you know my family. You would not see the woman you wish to see."

"The eyes deceive. Pansy, do you think I am shallow?" he asked, pain in his eyes.

"Of course not, your Highness." She drew away from him. "You are a man with integrity. I am not a lady to meet such a standard."

"How many times must I say it? The standards matter little to me." He put both of his hands on one of hers, enclosing it.

"I know this," Pixal said, looking down at their hands. "Nevertheless, you deserve better than me."

"I hardly believe such a woman could exist."

Pixal looked up sharply, and the intensity of Zane's gaze was nearly too much to bear. So much emotion was on display, she could not comprehend it, only knowing that it was tender, with his heart on his sleeve. She sighed, breath catching in her chest, feeling as if her spirit was caught in his gaze.

"You are not the kind of prince I believed our kingdom to have," she said after a few moments.

Zane chuckled, caught off guard. "What kind would you believe, Pansy?"

"None so willing to follow what he seeks, despite rebuff," she responded, a smile pulling at her lips. "Zane, you are… extraordinary."

"As are you," he responded. He gently raised her hand to his lips, kissing it. "Pansy, is there no way I might convince you? At the very least, I would like to continue our friendship, even if you wish for nothing more."

The gesture made Pixal feel flushed, and she racked her mind for an answer. She had no heart to deny such a plea, but no strength to allow him to see her true colors.

"I suppose there might be one way," she eventually whispered.

"What might it be?" he asked, hope coloring his voice as it bloomed in his chest. His grip on her hand became stronger.

She sighed gently, gears in her mind turning quickly as she concocted a plan. She spoke softly as she told him. "If you are able to find me, then you may know my name."

"Find you? Where? How?" He bowed his head toward her, ever so slightly.

She smiled despite herself. "I live on an estate not far from here. If you are able to find me, then you shall know." She tried to ignore how guilty it made her feel to grant him such a task, and worse, for him to still not know her first name– the one she still kept.

Zane contemplated this answer, wondering about her motivation but finding no sufficient answer. "You wish for me to seek out your home...?"

"That is correct." She nodded. "If you find me, then you shall know my name- then, too, you will also know all the other things you seek."

"I accept your challenge," Zane responded at length. He looked into her eyes and their emerald hue, memorizing the patterns of their variation. "I will find you, Pansy. No matter the difference in station, I believe we are compatible."

"You and I are compatible?" she parroted.

"That is what I said."

"Oh."

He laughed quietly. "Is that your only response?"

She blushed, her traitorous heart beating loudly in her chest. "Zane, I do not know what to say." The distance between them seemed small, and for a few moments it felt like she did not need to hide. "You are… simply incredible."

"As are you," he murmured. "If I may I even say it, you are the most beautiful flower I have ever laid eyes upon. If pansies are to indicate thoughtfulness, I can think of no more fitting owner of such a name."

She blushed and looked away. "You flatter me, Prince."

"Perhaps." He smiled. "I will find you, Pansy."

Her heart clenched in dread and anticipation. "I'm sure you will." She looked back at him, unwilling to consider her emotions any further. "Tell me, the day is still young. Might we enjoy it a little longer?"

"By all means." He offered his hand. "It would be my honor to continue such a fine day with you."

"The honor is mine." She took his hand and they both stood, so close and yet so far apart. "It is a privilege to have met you at all."

"I must say the same."

-----

The day's hours came and went, their daily pattern uninterrupted by the chaos in the hearts of men and women. Birds sang, the clouds drifted, and the wind blew. Even the insects kept to their habits, with bees in hives and ants in nests. Mankind was not so affected, either, for the festival continued in its pattern, with cheerful people doing business and having fun. Dancers danced, merchants bought and sold, and celebrators milled about.

For the rest of the day's younger hours, Pixal and Zane still did not part. Despite how much time they had spent together the past two days, they found themselves to be closer still, unwilling to attend to any business besides each other. Despite the mysteries between them, each found their bond to be enticing enough to tempt half-thought impulses which they studiously ignored. Several times that day, Pixal found herself needing to re-fasten her hair clip, finding it loose and slipping from her hair. Despite her troubles, however, it did not fall.

Throughout the day, they talked and walked, often stopping in shaded places. At one point, they returned to the pavilion for a few dances. Faster than either would have liked, the hours passed.

When the sun dipped near the horizon and the bell tower rang, both knew it was time to separate. At that time, Pixal took Zane's hand, deciding to ignore the inevitable.

"You are jousting again tonight, are you not?" she asked him.

"I am." Zane turned his hand to clasp hers. "Will you watch me?"

"I will. I have something for you." She smiled and put her free hand into her pocket, pulling out her blue scarf. Melded with white and sparkled with silvery thread, one of her last mementos from her mother, it sparkled like ice and snow.

Zane looked down at it, then up at her. "You would favour me?"

"I would." She put the scarf in his hand and clasped his fingers around it with utmost gentleness. "I do."

Zane held it gently. "You honor me, Pansy," he said, voice hushed like prayer.

"It is the other way around." She smiled. "Care for it well?"

"I will." Zane folded it gently and put it in his pocket.

"I will watch your jousting, and I wish you luck." With that, she threw caution to the wind and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Now you may show the world."

The smile on his face made Pixal's heart race. He brushed a lock of hair from her face, his touch gentle and light, almost worshipful. "I will, with pride." Then he took her hand and kissed it. "I will find you, Pansy."

"I know you will," she responded, trying not to dread such time as he was right.

-----

After leaving Pansy's side, Zane moved quickly. Their parting had taken longer than he expected, but he still had a bit of time before he had to begin jousting. As such, he hurried to prepare himself, but he could not stop smiling.

The day had not gone entirely to plan, he supposed as he entered the arena. Pansy had been so resistant to telling him her family name, to the point that she had fully refused to do so. He wondered what it could mean. Was her family disgraced, or of low stature? Perhaps she believed the caste system was valuable, and such, she was not of high enough upbringing to be an acceptable princess. If such an idea was the reason, then he simply could not believe it, for she was too well-mannered to be such.

What was the reason, then? Embarrassment? She clearly did not dislike him, nor was she reciprocating his advances out of fear of refusal. No matter how he framed the idea, he simply could not find a suitable reason for her refusal.

With so many thoughts swirling in his mind, Zane entered the room where he was to dress himself with his armor. There, Cryptor awaited him again, already holding the armor.

"There you are, Prince Zane!" he greeted. "You have cut your time closely today."

"My apologies, Cryptor." Zane bowed his head hastily. "I was preoccupied."

"I'm sure you were." Cryptor stepped forward, holding out the first pieces for Zane to step into. "Were you with Lady Pansy again?"

"As a matter of fact, I was," Zane replied, buckling on the armor.

"That would be the explanation, then. Would it not?" A smile was evident in his voice, even though Zane could not see him.

"Yes," Zane admitted.

"Have you learned about her family, then?" The advisor brought the next piece for Zane to don and buckle. "You were most adamant to do so when we spoke yesterday."

Zane hesitated. "No, but I will learn it soon."

Cryptor sighed. "The festival is nearly over, and I doubt the lady would stay past the jousting to speak to you, no matter how willing or unwilling she is. How will you find a chance?"

"She asked me to find her, Cryptor. She said that if I did, she would introduce me to her father." Zane sighed faintly. "Unfortunately, I do not know why she said to do so."

"Perhaps because she is ashamed?"

"Perhaps."

"Have you any leads, then? Something to start your search?"

Zane ran down the list on his fingers before putting on his gauntlets. "She lives near the city, in an estate. She mentioned no family, but fair hair and green eyes is a rare combination. That should be at least enough to narrow down my search."

Cryptor buckled on his breastplate. "If it is not, you will not find her. I trust that you know that."

"I do." Now fully armored, Zane took his lance in his hands. "I also know that she is not fully against the idea."

"How might you know that? She has not yet given you a favour."

Zane smiled. "In that, dear Cryptor, you are mistaken." He took Pansy's scarf from his pocket.

Cryptor examined it in interest, feeling the soft fibers. "I stand corrected. This is a fine gift– she could not possibly be from any lower station than a minor noble."

"I agree," Zane replied, tying it to the lance. "I have no reason to suspect she is of low stature, but even if she was, I would not think any less of her."

"Then you will look for her?" Cryptor asked. "Even if the nobles of our kingdom find fault with her?"

"I choose my bride, and no other," Zane responded, taking the opportunity to mount his stallion, Shard. "They will simply have to accept the lady I choose."

Cryptor smiled. "You are more certain about this decision than many I have seen you make, Prince Zane. The confidence suits you well." He put a hand on Zane's knee. "Have a good joust, your Highness."

Zane nodded in thanks, bringing down his visor. "Thank you, Cryptor. For everything."

"You are most welcome, though I suspect I will be helping with your search."

"Most likely." Zane chuckled, the sound echoing in his helmet. "The lady is elusive."

"She is indeed." With that, Zane trotted onto the jousting field, to the sound of the cheering crowd, lifting Pixal's favour high into the air.

-----

The sound of the festival crowd was loud enough to shake the earth. It was an unabated roar such as Pixal had never heard, louder even than the bear that had once wandered onto the Borg estate, and fiercer than her father's cry of war as he drove it from the property. She covered her ears as she adjusted to the feeling.

The jousting tournament had been going on for a while before she arrived, yet there was still a place low in the stands where she was able to stand. Unbeknownst to her before she found her space, she was near the king's viewing box, making space rare and highly sought. However, not one man nor woman inconvenienced her, nor asked for her to move, which she considered providential. From her vantage point, she saw every joust at a prime view.

The first of the few jousts Pixal saw was between two experienced knights. The first knight bore a favour in the form of a red veil on his lance and a crest belying the Gordon family– it was emblazoned with stars and moons, with a mace in the center. The knight had to be Sir Cliff, patriarch of the family. The other bore no favour that she could see, yet held his lance high. His crest was that of the Powers– a compass and quill next to a pike, making him none other than the newly-knighted Sir Clutch.

The jousters came at each other at the sound of a loud bell, lances raised. Sir Cliff scored a solid hit on Sir Clutch's shoulder, but the knight did not fall. Instead, he rolled his shoulder as they came about for the next impact.

The next strike was Clutch's, upon Cliff's chest plate. The sound of the strike rang out, and the crowd cheered. In his reeling from the force, he tumbled and fell to the sand.

Pixal marveled as Cliff got up and dusted himself off, the joust already over. He bowed to the king's viewing box and then to the crowd before re-mounting his horse, then rode off to an opening in the wall and exited.

The speed of the joust took Pixal by surprise, even as the crowd lauded him. She watched in quiet awe as Clutch took off at a canter, circling the arena and raising his lance high. When he came closer, she realized he had a minimal gray scarf tied to the handle of his lance. Then he pointed it at a lady in silver in the stands, indicating she was the owner of the favour.

Pixal froze. She had given Zane a favour, thinking it was anonymous, and had not told him where she would be as she watched. Would the prince find her and single her out? Her family would know she had lied if they saw her. Would they recognize her scarf? How could she do anything to protect herself from their wrath?

As she contemplated this, a flash of silver caught her eye. Another knight entered the arena, clad in shining silver armor, more ornate than any she had seen before. It boasted strong, artisanal plating, and the pauldrons bore a crest. So too did the shield, and as he neared, she recognized the falcon and falling snow. Finally, upon his lance was tied a blue and white scarf, matching the paint of his crest.

Pixal's heart caught in her chest. There was Prince Zane, in all his glory, bearing her favour proudly. Strong and resilient, despite being hidden from head to toe, he was the model knight. The crowd grew wilder than any she had heard so far, and she heard murmurs from women near her about the scarf. Some shouted, others whispered, and all mentioned Pixal's scarf.

Zane canter around the arena, circling to a place before the king's box- and despite his lack of knowledge, before her. Pixal watched as he paid respect to his father, and resisted the urge to wave at him, giving away her position. Nevertheless, it felt like his gaze was fixed upon her, and a chill ran up her spine.

After the few moments had elapsed, Zane turned and went to his mark, where he waited to joust against Sir Clutch. According to a herald, they were one of the final pairs for the tournament, and it was to be Sir Clutch's last joust of the night.

A bell sounded, and the two were off, Pixal's heart beating faster than their horses' hooves.

With a mighty clang, Zane's lance struck Clutch's chest. Clutch was knocked back, but stayed astride his steed.

The crowd cheered. Pixal whispered a silent prayer for Zane.

The second attack was much like the first, loud and majestic. Clutch was struck on the helmet, and his head turned fiercely, but he did not fall. Both jousters stayed upright.

Zane returned to his mark at the sound of yet more thunderous support. Pixal watched her scarf flutter in the wind.

The third attack began, and this time Zane was struck, the blow glancing off his pauldron.

The crowd gasped as he was pushed back in his saddle, and he put a hand to his shoulder. Pixal breathed a quiet prayer as he looked as if he was to fall. Then, after a moment, the prince righted himself, triggering more cheers, and Pixal sighed in relief.

The fourth attack came with undeniable finality, as Clutch was struck fully in the chest and fell to the side off his mount. From the force of his attack, Zane continued forward, circling around the rail central in the arena.

Pixal watched in openmouthed awe as Zane slowed to a stop, the crowd quiet. He turned his steed around, and the horse neighed in the empty air. The prince was still for a few moments, and then slowly raised his lance, scarf fluttering.

The crowd exploded into cheering. Pixal applauded him, heart pounding, as he came before the king. Zane looked up at his father and bowed his head. The king raised his hand in approval, clearly proud. The crowd celebrated again.

A smile crept into Pixal's face as she watched Zane. For a few more rounds, he jousted several knights. Not once did he fall, and only once more did he stumble, completely sure in his skill. The crowds celebrated him every time, and every time he would circle back toward his father, as if he knew she were up there, watching. At the end, he spoke in the ear of a servant, who ran from the field, and she wondered what he said.

To Pixal's joy and dismay, the tournament did not last forever. She knew she was on borrowed time, for her family would return home soon, so she readied herself to hastily leave the arena. As such, she was just about to escape when the king made an announcement, hushing the crowds as he dismissed the same servant from before that had been whispering something to him.

"My people, I thank you for your enthusiasm for this tournament," the king began. "I hope that you have enjoyed the festival!"

The crowds roared in appreciation.

"Good, good! There is one last announcement for you, on behalf of my son, Prince Zane." Pixal's heart caught in her throat as she struggled to spy the king's smiling face. "He would like to inform the world that he has chosen a lady, but that he cannot find her."

Chaos exploded in the arena. Pixal heard several cries from nearby women. She watched, heart pounding, as the king explained the prince's search for her.

"Now, my people, please. I will tell you what she is like, that you may help my dear son. The lady he is seeking has the fairest of hair and green eyes. He does not wish to disclose her name– let it only be known that the name is short. He seeks to return her favour, as thanks for the luck it brought him. Anyone who aids in her discovery will be handsomely rewarded."

Throughout the announcement, the crowd stewed in mixed confusion and excitement. After it finished, they vocalized their emotions, such that the king could not calm them. Pixal smiled to keep up her charade, but it hurt to breathe as she listened. Before order was restored, she took her opportunity and left the stands as quickly as possible, running to find the place where she had hidden her spellbook.

Despite her clear memory, the search for the spellbook was not easy. When she at last found it, the stands were mostly empty. Her family was doubtlessly on the way home, before she was, and were likely to return soon! It was clear that her time was running out.

After casting her spell and returning home, Pixal wasted no time in tearing down her charade. First she ran to her sister's room, returning the gown and jewelry like she had found it– not a difficult task, given how messy her stepsisters were. Second, she ran to her own room, taking down her hair and hiding her fine things in the wallboard, which seemed to be looser than it once was and swung quite freely on the connecting nail. Third, she grabbed her cleaning supplies, going for the dirtiest of jobs in order to hide how clean she was and how she had just arrived.

For a little while, a hesitant peace descended upon Pixal's mind as she cleaned, the repetitive tasks soothing her. She began to be able to reason through the ways she would be able to hide, should she need to do so, in order that Amaryllis would not realize her deception.

Finally, Pixal came across a task that she was not strong enough to do, having spent all her energy at the festival, and decided it was the proper moment to use magic to aid her.

It was not until she asked for its help that she realized her enchanted hairclip was gone, fallen from her hair.

[slowd1ving]

PENDULUM ✦ . 　⁺ xiv.

O VIRTUS SAPIENTIAE ALIO MODO (HILDEGAARD VON BINGEN)

"O virtus, o virtus." wc: 10.7k

JOJO'S BIZARRE ADVENTURE MASTERLIST

PENDULUM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ・゜NEXT PART

“Ha…”

It had been easy enough to ignore the dry, sweltering sun at first. Summer by summer, the Ferdinand Institute had glowed amber in the Arizona heat. Even within the cold, impassive stone walls, the rays that stirred up the dust motes were uncomfortably warm. But this–

Perspiration dotted your face and palms, soaking uncomfortably into your gloves and adhering your shirt to you. The crimson jacket was already tied tightly around your waist, yet the heat already had you rolling up the sleeves far past the elbows.

It’ll be fine. Your gloves covered the most recognisable part of your tattoos; the only caveat was now the distinctive colours from the lines on your skin. There was not a whisper of any soul since you’d departed that small town hours ago, and the two souls you were worried about recognising those lines had already left before you. 

But, was the trembling in your hands due to worry? Your mind was a perfect ellipse, catapulting between intense agitation and a frightening calm. Had you focused solely on the discrepancies in your thoughts, you would’ve failed to notice the arrhythmia of the pulse within your stomach. And had you focused solely on that pounding sensation, you would’ve failed to notice the heady smile toying with your lips.

It can’t be. 

Were you excited?

You touched your lips in awe – once, twice, just to be sure. It was undeniable. Anticipation burned through your blood vessels as if it was Phlegethon itself: lighting each capillary in boundless streaks of incandescence. 

Confrontation was inevitable. It had been quiet. Too quiet, for a race with dozens of Stand users supposedly in the mix. You could feel it in the air: threading and cleaving through the molecules like fate itself dragging you by your marionette strings. 

That shadowy figure was hounding you from all sides, pressing into Group Four’s flanks: unrelenting, as an enemy should be. The weight at your hip swung heavy with each breath. 

And with a confrontation, there’d be information exchanged. 

You wouldn’t fail.

You couldn’t.

“ Ha,” your lungs burned in indignation. Words tumbled out of your larynx as if to quell your disquieted mind. “There’s a small chance that the person I see today won’t be someone to fight. They could, coincidentally, just be a user that entered the race.”

Still. The taste of iron entered your mouth as your teeth finally broke the skin of your cracked lips. It was far more likely that you’d be confronting someone from either the President’s faction or someone after Zeppeli’s bounty. Though, you doubted it was the latter since there hadn’t been any witnesses of your brief contact with the man.

Since they’re all dead, you thought grimly. 

Well, that was one way of resolving any potential issues of associating with him. 

That just left the President’s faction. It was unlikely that they were as sophisticated and wide-spread as they were in the present day, yet you knew you needed to exercise utmost caution when dealing with them. You’d bait them if possible – and if confronted head-on – so that your arsenal only consisted of a pistol.  

And you’d leave no witnesses.

No, perhaps you could bait them in other ways. If it was eventually revealed you had a Stand, you could control the information about it. No matter how useless, the only facet you could display was Words Like Violence. Absolutely under no circumstances could you carelessly reveal just how valuable Personal Jesus could be.

[ I’m flattered. ]

Shut it. 

After all, those who are killed first in combat are medics, are they not? Another grim thought to mull over. 

Information warfare had been his specialty all those decades into the future. Resistance, guerilla or otherwise, had been shut down meticulously and viciously. Any loose threads had been cut off. 

Except for you. 

The corpse was the President’s biggest strength and greatest weakness. 

He was scrupulous with details, even in the past. But not as much as his future self. The Valentine of your time was only a shadow here: emerging slowly but surely, but not yet emerged.  

At this point, that monster still made mistakes. 

If you were being honest, that was the crucial part of your plan. There was no hope otherwise. Valentine may still have the crude methods of the past in this time, but you didn’t want to face him even if it was only a year or two from here. 

Really, that stupid head gave you the most opportune time to make your move. 

And it was quiet, but that small voice within your sternum was pressing butterfly-light against your flesh: thank you.

Thank you for letting me change the future.

It was like a small kiss from fate, placed on the apple of your cheek affectionately. 

That’s right. I mustn't forget.

You could save Dr Amsa. 

. 　⁺ ✦

“You think I could reinvent the GPS?” you griped. A firm thumbprint was currently being etched upon the delicate glass of the compass that taunted you with its gleam. Unless you were mistaken – and you absolutely couldn’t be mistaken – your navigation skills weren’t terrible. 

Slowing Group Four to an leisurely amble, you pored over the wrinkled map in your fingers, peeking at your surroundings every few seconds to match the topography of what you saw to what was on the map. 

“If I consider that range in the distance, and that path over there–”

You were Lost, with a capital L. 

Briefly, you considered sending Group Four back and wallowing in embarrassment within the piercing sun. I can’t do that, you thought despairingly. No matter how bad it got, dignity was the one thing you’d hold on to, unless it got in the way of getting back to the future. Besides, under no circumstances did you want word of this to reach Diego’s ears – even if you had decided you didn’t care what he thought of you.

“ Fuck–” The drawn out sigh had your eyes closing in exasperation. There had to have been something you missed, within those neatly chequered lines and worn edges. Look closer, idiot. Slipping a pencil out of your pocket, you lightly dotted the area of the village checkpoint, before tracing the rough pathway you’d been taking for the past few hours. Forty kilometres. Within that radius from the village, you flashed as a red dot on the map in your mind. 

Somewhere here. There were three possible quadrants you could’ve ended up in. The first, due north on the faded paper, boasted flat plains of which there were none in your sights. While there were signs of the sloping hills and rock formations that littered the region, there was a particularly distinctive cluster further south in the third. 

Alone against the fearsome winds, it stood proud at the eye of the maelstrom: a grey mountain, or more accurately, clustered pillars of stone that had borne against the harsh climate for centuries. A bastion of hope – your lighthouse in this sea of sand. It was a mere few hundred or so metres from here, well within range of walking. You’d regroup and reorient yourself in the dizzying landscape at those sanctified pillars, before continuing on. 

You froze. Can’t be.

There was something glimmering up there, undetectable to your eyes. No, you’d sensed something from up there; it itched at your skin, clawing to get out with ferocious madness. 

“Ha!” It bubbled out, disbelief spilling from your lips as you let out an incredulous laugh. This oily feeling pervading your senses could only be the very thing you’d anticipated!

A chance for information!

Dismounting, you dusted yourself off before covering yourself with your jacket once more. Whoever it was, hiding far away indicated a wide-range of protection; there was no need to involve the Appaloosa in whatever onslaught occurred. 

“Stay here girl,” you crooned, leading the mare behind a boulder and into the cooler shade. Her soft nose brushed your cheek, blowing hot air right on your face with what could only be mischievousness. “You–”

“I’ll be fine,” you tacked on, coughing to hide the giggle that threatened escape. “Just don’t get noticed and I’ll return right as rain.”

I’m not the one talking to a horse. Stupid Diego. What did he know? Though she didn’t understand your words, Group Four understood the intent behind them. She understood , and for that she was friend enough. 

Your gun jostled against bone. The leather body of the holster was sequestered firmly beneath sanguine fabric: the false pool of blood that rippled in the sun. You took a deep breath. There was no backing out now.

Stay with me.

Despite all the bravado propelling your limbs earlier, those strings had been cut and you were a useless marionette once more. The fear was dizzying; each step coaxed your heart into your mouth and let the organ plummet back to limbo. 

[ I’m here. ]

Stupid. Since when did that spirit induce that ticklish sensation in your chest? It was stupid, you were stupid –

“Fuck,” you heaved, wiping the sweat from your drenched brow with your damp glove. Wobbling slightly, you let go of the boulder that had been supporting your weight and took the first step into the trap. And another. And another, until you were back under the watchful sun. 

“Who could you be? Who could you possibly be?” you breathed. The precarious sway in your steps was meant to be feigned, but you’d slipped into it like a second skin. No, it wasn’t even a second skin. It was real – the fear – much like the sand crunching beneath worn soles. 

You had no way of knowing who you’d face. Perhaps it was someone who’d kill you in the same instant you made yourself known, or someone who’d draw your death out until you wept blood. If you were lucky, your trembling could be chalked up to dehydration rather than acute fear. If you were lucky, you wouldn’t be suspected of knowing about the trap in the first place.

In your palm, the pulse of time fluttered like a second heart. 

14:37

You almost considered abandoning your principles and summoning Depeche Mode. But you couldn’t. Even with the panic clouding the echo chamber of your mind, you knew to not play all your cards. 

14:38

The stage was set.

( Enter left. Clutching a red jacket tiredly, the weary fool walks through the desert. They are marked with heaving breaths and a trembling body, appearing utterly exhausted and utterly guileless of the danger those footsteps lead them towards. )

As if beckoned by a director, you heard the mechanical sounds of metal grinding against metal.

You stopped breathing. 

There, suspended by two slowly descending feathers, were metal hooks swaying dangerously left and right. Those steel ropes that held the heavy, sharp weapons resembled snakes more than a simple system of winches and pulleys.

The star of the show has appeared.

Trance-like, the hooks danced lightly in the breeze. They glimmered innocently – yet, you had the horrible feeling they were watching . That glint in the silver was like the speck of light in a human iris: analytical, probing, dangerous.

“Ha,” you clutched at your head. Lethargy came to you naturally – those hooks still watched your act, and you watched them from your peripherals. The wide brim of your hat concealed the harsh set of your eyes, and the bandanna your lower face; you had to exaggerate your movements if you wanted the trap to be sprung. 

You tilted your head back and closed your eyes. Dropping your guard could potentially end in your life just being snuffed out, but you got the feeling the user operating the two winches was too curious to pass you up. 

Take me.

You thought you were prepared. Your body had braced itself like tensing before an injection – anticipation. Then, the hooks had pierced through your skin. A scream tore hoarse from your throat. 

It was excruciating. Blood slicked down your arms, and all you could feel was the white-hot pain that pulsed in tandem with your heartbeat. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck–” you could taste the iron on your tongue. It was filling your mouth out, the sanguine liquid dripping from your lips and soaking into the cloth. Salty tears broke through the coppery tongue, and you wept with agony as the hooks twisted through your skin. 

You were writhing, and your body was on fire. 

You were rising, and the sun was melting the wax off your manmade wings.

You were plummeting, and there was nothing that could save you. 

Please be over soon. 

“What do we have here?” 

A piece of flesh was half-attached to the inside of your cheek. Had you bitten it? Was that where all the blood had come from?

“I haven’t seen you hanging around Jyoshter, so who the hell could you be?”

There was blood crusting over your sleeves, yet the injury had settled to a dull throb. Had you passed out? You stifled a grunt of pain, and kept your eyes closed.

What’s the situation?

[You passed out around ten minutes ago and managed to activate Personal Jesus. Congratulations.]

What? You fought to keep yourself still. Panic ebbed and flowed in your mind. Over and over, you could hear your heart crashing within your head – as if the desperation could possibly save you.

[You unconsciously wanted to make yourself as small as possible, so I became the size of your palm – which he didn’t notice. You’re not completely healed to avoid suspicion, but the internal rupturing of your body has been reversed. Don’t do anything stupid and only shoot him when you calm down.]

“Maybe if I lift this, I’ll be able to recognise you. You don’t mind, do you?”

As soon as the rough pad of a finger poked your cheek, you composed yourself. Blearily, you squinted and raised your uninjured arm to block the high sun from your eyes. 

“Are you the one who saved me?” 

He stared, rocking back onto his heels from his crouch by your side. Short bamboo rods were tied haphazardly around his face, and his green tunic looked like it had seen better days. With his half-open gape, you could see teeth littering his gums like abandoned gravestones – forever subject to the crooked prodding of his tongue. You couldn’t be sure of his age. With his thin build and nasally voice, he didn’t seem that old; the viciousness in his eyes made your hands clammy from the whiplash. How can you be so cruel so young?  

Against your back, the stone of the mountain was warm from the sun and would’ve been ideal in any other circumstance, had your arm not been heavily injured. You winced from the friction as you attempted to sit up, and took the opportunity to look around. “I think I might’ve stabbed myself earlier, though I’m not sure if I lost the knife in the sand somewhere. I assume you brought me here, kind mister?”

You sincerely hoped the flattery would conceal your shaky voice. 

It’s high up. The feathers in the air from earlier seemed to be mediums to conduct those wires, and could transport people to wherever their user was. You could feel a cooler breeze than on ground level; it soothed you and reminded you of exactly why you were here. 

“Of course, of course,” he nodded enthusiastically, grinning with a smile that leaned too much on the side of malicious. He leaned closer with his sweating face and those disconcerting eyes. “I’m your hero who brought you here after you got injured!”

[He’s technically telling the truth.]

Lie by omission. He’s no hero. 

“Really?” You grasped his hand and sat up, shifting your side to feel for the familiar dig of your gun. “I don’t suppose you have any water, if you could be so kind?”

“Hah! Since I’m so kind, I might as well offer some to the poor schmuck who got lost in this desert,” he puffed out his chest as he spoke, already turning away from you to rummage in his small brown knapsack a few paces away. You dropped his hand.  Fuck, that was almost too easy.  

With his gaze and body elsewhere, you were free to glance around – though, your eyes were still cloudy from your tears. A few feet away was a bowl of rippling water with nothing else beside it. The more you stared at it, the more you had an inkling of how he used his power to scout out potential targets. Squinting, you looked at the crag situated a few metres diagonally upwards, from which hung something strange–

Your breath caught in your throat. 

That body was familiar. 

As your eyesight came back into focus, you saw him , swinging from the rock like a broken puppet. His golden hair had been used in lieu of strings, and his arms hung limply by his sides. A tanned face, serene amidst the cascade of blood that dripped from him, completely unresponsive to the world. 

Gyro Zeppeli, why are you here?  

Horrified, you stared at him a little too long, a little too openly. 

“Whatcha staring at?” He leered at you, holding out an oiled waterskin that you absolutely did not want to take at any cost.

“Did you save him too?” you asked brightly, hand placed lightly on your cheek to highlight the crinkle of your eyes. You were angry. You were seething, and you couldn’t pinpoint why. Was it his audacity? Was it the injury you’d incurred just minutes prior? Was it Zeppeli, who looked lifeless but couldn’t be?

He can’t be. Depeche Mode, you begged your Stand, tell me.

Depeche Mode was quiet. 

“Mister, you’re a really good person,” you leaned forward on the sand, surreptitiously feeling around for the pouch of bullets in your cargo pocket at the knee. There. They’re here. “I hope you don’t mind me nodding off for a bit.”

“Ah, since I’m so kind, I might as well,” he beamed, facing his bowl once more. “Ahem– I will be busy saving more people, so don’t disturb me.”

“Right!” Your smile dropped. 

[He’s still alive. Wait until he’s completely distracted to shoot him.]

Right.

You knew how to do it: the methodical aim and fire, the squeeze of the trigger and the recoil of the arm. Quietly, you observed, thumbing the little pouch by your knee. He was engrossed in the bowl–

The wires were coming from his mouth and into the water.

He looked completely crazed now, eyes darting madly within the water to search for his target. 

“ The place where the horse stops – yes, that’s where you’re located, Jyoshter–”

Jyoshter? Was he talking about Joestar?  

Of course. You were an idiot – what was new? Of course it was Johnny that got dragged into this, just like last time. It wasn’t your fateful encounter with the Stand user, it was theirs. You were the singularity here.

“–I’ll tear you apart like I said I would!”

Should I shoot him now?

[Not now. This idiot will probably end up shooting his own foot and revealing his own motive.]

Silently, your thumb pressed the cylinder release, disguised by the fluttering scarlet of your jacket. 

“Ah! He moved, right there! I knew that schmuck was in the ground, crawling like a little bug through the sand! I’ll try to avoid a close, one-on-one battle – just jump out and show your face.”

He specialised in long-range fighting. That much you’d figured out, yet you still paused regardless – did you need to put the gun away and think of some other tactics? 

Nah, you reasoned. It’s not like a bullet would lose a race with such a non-aerodynamic hook. 

You loaded the chamber, one by one. Six bullets in total; they glinted gold for victory. 

It wasn’t like you doubted your marksmanship. 

And it wasn’t like this idiot was a particularly hard target either. Even now, he was on his knees with his hands in the sand, facing away from where you sat with a gun in your hand.

Wait a little longer, Zeppeli.

“I’ll wait until you’ve been burnt a bit before I tear you apart with my hooks, stupid Jyoshter. The ‘corpse’ is in your left hand, so there shouldn’t be a problem as long as the fire doesn’t burn you on the inside!”

What did he just say?

Your hand gripped a fistful of sand, feeling the grains even through your gloves. Partly from shock, your breathing had become shallow, while your eyes bore straight at the fool in front of you. 

What does he know?

Should you just shoot him and offer to heal him in exchange for information? Stricken, your fingers grasped the wooden grip of the revolver – it creaked with your intensity, but you really couldn’t help it. 

“ Ahaha! He came out! He stood up – I see his suffering body!”

Is Johnny in danger as well?

Placidly, you raised the revolver. You didn’t think as your finger slipped over the trigger in preparation – you were completely lucid and empty as you aimed. 

[Stood up?]

You paused briefly. As far as you knew, Johnny wasn’t an ambulatory wheelchair user; it was inconceivable that the death throes had repaired his spine suddenly. 

“ This is the end, Jyoshter!”

Could you risk it? Did Johnny have a plan that you’d ruin if you shot the man?

“Prepare for death,” he yelled maniacally.

Sending a quick prayer to whoever was up there that you wouldn’t ruin whatever plan Johnny had, you squeezed the trigger. 

Almost instantaneously, blue laser-like lights streaked through the water and pierced his face. He didn’t even have time to scream – the nails and lead bullet flung him to the rocks at the base of the ledge, and he slipped out of sight. 

That was Johnny, right?

The area was clear, and you stumbled to your feet. Stupidly, you dropped your gun. Depeche Mode. Your tattoo started its familiar clinking and whirring; after the roiling tension in your stomach, the sound was almost comforting. 

“Zeppeli, don’t die on me.” Purple cloth slipped beneath the rough grasp of your fingers; you could barely prop his weight against yours without seeing white spotting your vision. The corpse was pushed to some forgotten corner of your mind – what mattered now was keeping the unconscious man alive. 

Hurry up, hurry up.

His hair finally slipped from the lip of the rock and his full mass slumped onto you. You breathed heavily; there was no time to think about your next moves rationally. 

You knew you didn’t have long left. The bullet you shot was aimed at the juncture of his shoulder in order to buy space for interrogation, but that had all gone out of the window at Johnny’s actions. Now, all you could do was make sure Zeppeli wasn’t in critical condition and then threaten the hook maniac.

[First slot activated: Personal Jesus. Countdown has begun.]

You sighed in relief.

As soon as that spectral syringe brushed past his skin, his eyes snapped open.

“That’s the same feeling as last time,” he stared directly at you, unsmiling. Though his face was still pallored and clammy, he was regaining vitality little by little. With his body practically in your lap, you could watch exactly how Depeche Mode functioned in real time. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”

Depeche Mode’s miniature was still in his blind spot. Keep going.

“Just explain after we’re through with this deficiente ,” he muttered, gripping your shoulder with one hand and his temples with the other. “At the very least, I don’t feel like absolute shit anymore.”

“I’ll tell you what I can.” It almost felt peaceful. Though his blood soaked your clothes, the warmth of another person grasping you was utterly surreal. Stay like this, just for a bit. But you couldn’t do that. You helped him into a sitting position; once more, you kept your distance. “I know you don’t trust me, but I swear I won’t harm you.”

You have nothing to do with my target.

“You’re right, I don’t trust you,” he heaved a sigh, staring at you. Absentmindedly, he tapped a golden finger against his knee. “But you don’t trust me either. I’ve seen the way you look at me – you don’t want anything to do with me.”

“The feeling’s mutual from you, so I think we’re even,” you stood, brushing the sand from your chaps and offering him a gloved hand. When he took it, you could feel the tension laced in his flesh and sinew. 

“Yeah, we are,” he commented, letting go. “Let’s team up and kill that bastardo. Then after you tell me what you did to me earlier, we’ll part and go on our merry ways.”

“We can’t kill him yet,” you interjected. ‘ You can’t kill him yet’, your tone suggested. “I– we can still get more information out of him.”

Zeppeli waved his hand dismissively. “Who do you think I am? I implied that.”

The carefree expression on his face turned grave. “We still need to make sure Johnny’s alright–”

A hook protruded grotesquely out of his chest. You whirled around, heart thumping madly in your ribcage as you felt around for your holster. 

Shit. It was still there, waiting in the sand for you.

[ Thirty-four seconds remain. ]

“It’s funny, isn’t it? I set the bait up to catch Jyoshter, but I seem to have caught a nobody as well! Two twerps with one worm!” He’d lost his bamboo hat, and his tongue lolled madly from his mouth as his jaw unhinged as far as it would go. In the back of his throat, you could see the winch and pulley system extending down into his gullet. No longer did he look childish; your eyesight really had been damaged when you failed to spot the aged skin and wrinkled cheeks. 

The hook pierced through your wrist, and it took everything within you to remain standing. 

“Were you working with this loser all along?” he caterwauled, pulling your hand into Zeppeli’s sternum. “Didn’t I save you?”

[Johnny’s still alive, but his breathing seems to indicate unconsciousness. I think he’s just a little banged up for now – this guy’s totally hellbent on getting revenge against you, I think.]

“Who said that?” you eyed Zeppeli shiftily, trying to indicate with your irises that Johnny was not yet at the pearly gates. You allowed your shoulder to collide with his chest to feign your arm being completely pressed against it – you still had a bit of slack rope to work with. 

[ Eight seconds remain. ]

“Johnny’s unconscious, but he’s not injured too badly,” you whispered. He exhaled sharply, yet indiscernibly to anyone but you. I’m relieved too.

“You did! Traitor!” the senile fart yowled, lashing the other hook wildly like a morningstar. You could hear it whip past the air with sickening speed; the breeze fanned towards you from the impact and only made your sweating face even colder. “You were trying to make a fool out of my kindness, you donkey!”

Depeche Mode. 

You didn’t have your gun. Johnny was incapacitated, and Zeppeli’s holsters had been stowed away by that madman. You hadn’t planned on using this card at all. 

Instinctively, you knew what result you’d get from the slot machine. 

[Second slot activated: Words Like Violence. Countdown has begun.]

A short-range ability, well matched to take on that guy – but he’s also well matched to take on my Stand, especially since I’ve never actually used this slot before.

“You– ” Zeppeli curled inwards as if in pain, yet his lips were right next to your ear as he breathed the words. “You’re the person whose ability I saw that night. That thing hanging around me was because of you.”

Depeche Mode’s smaller form had materialised in the space between your two bodies, concealed from the enemy by your torso. Its carefully blank clock eyes seemed to stare right at him, and he looked at you incredulously.

“I said I’ll explain later,” you hissed. Your mind was racing, watching the man with the hooks shake in rage at your proximity. What do I do? “I barely know how to use it – just let me focus on the fight and don’t get hurt any more–”

“You two really were scheming!” His agitation was clear – those hands were grasping at his thin hair and he looked as though he was unravelling at the very seams. 

“You worried about me? I’m not that fragile.”

“I’m not worried about you, I just won’t be able to heal you if I’m fighting,” you admitted, and immediately wondered if you’d said too much. Zeppeli glanced at you pensively.

“You don’t seem very experienced in these matters.”

“That’s it! ”

As the second hook careened towards you, Zeppeli pushed you down by the shoulder and it scraped past you by a hair’s breadth. 

It was strange. You’d almost forgotten the pain that echoed in your arm. 

You flinched.

“Didn’t I tell you we should team up – who are you to tell me to stay back?” His harsh words brought you back down to the ground. Pull yourself together. “I’m not going to rely on you.”

[I can’t stand this anymore.]

“You were friends all along– you two fuckers!”

“We’re not friends,” you and Zeppeli snapped simultaneously. His sharp eyes glanced off you, and you gazed stonily back. 

[Stop screwing around and put the gloves on.]

“Huh?” you mumbled, glancing down at your Stand. “What are you talking about?”

[I was hoping you’d figure it out by yourself, but I guess my hopes were too high.]

“All that talk, yet you can’t focus on the fight?” 

[Quid pro quo.]

This for that.

Depeche Mode heals, therefore I attack. You smiled ruefully. It had been years since you last wore boxing gloves. 

You didn’t need its input any more. You’d figured it out. 

I’d prefer some plain tape instead of those ugly gloves. They still had ‘words’ emblazoned proudly on the front. You winced. What was with this terrible sense of humour?

“Speak for yourself, Zeppeli.”

Depeche Mode had faded into the back of your sternum like it always had. 

When you pushed him from your side, your riding gloves had been replaced with black boxing tape – though not plain like you’d wished. Rather, the jet fabric was covered in embroidered patterns in shifting hues. I used to wear this style under my gloves when I was younger , you reminisced. Some things really never changed. 

Gloves were too unwieldy when outside the ring. 

You’re right, I’ve got little experience in actual fights. 

This tape was linked to the second slot ability. 

I can’t focus, and I’ve already screwed up twice. 

It was reasonable to assume that the tape would offer the same protection as boxing gloves. After all, it really was the same ability – just in a different form. 

If I do this, will I screw up again?

Your mind worked furiously to figure out what you could. 

[He really shouldn’t have aimed for your wrist when you’re like this.]

Your expression changed, and you held onto the steel rope with your uninjured arm while yanking the hook lodged in your wrist. Depeche Mode had been nice enough to give you hints; you just had to be foolhardy enough to interpret its words.

The blood slicking your hands slid off the tape – there was no pain nor nausea, even when you stared hard at the wounds and the metal sliding through the gap in your flesh. Rather, it appeared the skin was slowly warping itself back into space, much like when you used Personal Jesus.

Is it possible that the effects are the same?

[You’ll receive your explanation later. Focus. ]

“What the–” Zeppeli muttered, stilling once your eyes met once in warning. Your eyes flickered to where his chest was still strung through; did he really not feel it? Did this man have a will of steel? It’ll be over soon, and I can fix my errors.

The second hook swayed dangerously. Now that you and Zeppeli didn’t seem so easy to take down, he had to switch tactics and wait for an opening–

“When the cats are away the mice will play! You two better enjoy the rest of your pathetic lives whilst I have some fun,” he leered. Those eyes of his were filled with mania; was he toying with you two? 

It didn’t matter. You had to end it quickly.

[ Two minutes, thirty seconds remaining. ]

Though that time seemed like the shortest in the world, a melee like this wasn’t often dragged out. At most, the fight would only last a minute and a bit before either he or you exhausted yourself. You also had the additional time of around three minutes after the countdown ended. If it ended, you were screwed.

And it’s not like I quit recently. 

“I need to get close to him,” you muttered, slowly inching away from Zeppeli. He gave you a long, hard look. That look – that look that told you he was unimpressed yet still mildly curious as to what you’d do. 

“Alright.”

That’s it?  

“The sooner we finish him off, the better, right? Here, I’ll push you–” 

Just as quickly as he spoke it, he grabbed your arms and wheeled you around so you finally faced your esteemed hero. You could feel a boot press into your lower back – that fucker kicked you – and that was the moment where you could see those green lips drawn back in a smirk in your mind’s eye. You knew that expression was on his face; the delay with which he finally pushed you forward felt too much like a laugh.

“You just wanted to push me, bastard–”

You know you shouldn’t have, but you couldn’t resist looking back. His smile wasn’t as vindictive as you thought it would be. Those green eyes were closed, and his golden teeth flashed bright in a smile that seemed, well, innocent. What the hell? You didn’t know why, but you couldn’t look away from that expression of joy, even as you careened through space and into the waiting arms of your enemy. 

“Even now, you’re still looking at the bait?” His voice was incredulous and furious, yet he still leapt away to put distance in between the two of you. You swore under your breath. If this kept up, you wouldn’t be able to land a hit by the time the countdown ended. “I’m going to enjoy ripping the smile off his face when I finally kill you.”

He was more limber than you expected. At some point, his taunts had fizzled out, sliding over you like oil over water. You were tranquil – more tranquil than you had ever been – as you weaved and dodged the free hook that was just a fraction of a second too slow. Maybe he could’ve got you if he used both hooks, yet he clearly wanted to keep Zeppeli back and you found that you didn’t mind the underestimation at all. 

Honestly, you didn’t know how you were moving so fast. It was like you’d been hooked up to an IV drip of adrenaline; your body was hyper aware of its surroundings, stumbling not once as you jumped the tricky terrain. 

And it was silent. You could see his mouth moving as you came closer – you heard none of it as your punch finally connected with his jaw. He was backed into a corner, and you could almost see the right angle of the ropes forming behind his emaciated body. He was stumbling wildly, trying in vain to stabilise himself – you felt any sympathy had long dissipated. 

Your ears rang with a dull, monotonous clang; all you could hear was the swish of rope through the air, yet none of that mattered. Your feet had settled shoulder-width, and your fists had been brought high to guard your face. 

A target had appeared on his jaw again. Leisurely, your hips swung to follow through with the motion; somehow, that scrawny man managed to dodge. But it wasn’t enough. You’d anticipated it, much like an experienced fisherman would anticipate a particularly slippery fish attempting to escape. 

He dodged right into your other, waiting fist. It proved too much for him – he clutched at the rock behind him, scrabbling for purchase as you delivered another one-two in his solar plexus. 

You watched him hack and wheeze for air. You couldn’t hear his pleas nor the sound of his body fighting to stay conscious. Distractedly, you watched as blood emerged on his thin lips. It was the same shade as your jacket: a sort of fresh, arterial crimson that reminded you of a nosebleed. 

“You’re a boxer? You really aren’t the average jockey, are you?” Zeppeli’s words jarred through the ringing silence. 

You couldn’t hear the wind, only each syllable as it hit your eardrum – you swore you felt the hits on your malleus, incus and stapes, you swore you could sense the fluid in your cochlea ripple, you swore you were aware of the signal getting sent through the auditory nerve to your brain. His voice was clearer than your own pulse, as if the two of you stood mouth to ear in an empty, darkened room. 

Dizzily, you wiped the blood coagulating on the corner of his lips, before pulling back to strike the man again. The movement allowed you to narrowly miss the trajectory of the second hook; evidently, he decided that guarding from you took priority over restraining Zeppeli. Zeppeli was free, yet he still decided to be a bystander. 

You had to be more careful now. Yet, strangely, the second, snake-like hook racing through the air only made your head clearer. Your heart pounded madly, but your body felt lighter than air. 

As you thought, he struggled even more with controlling the momentum of his hooks at such a short range. You could easily predict the trajectory – even just using your peripheral vision. 

It was strange. 

Your legs shook with the strain, so it would stand to reason you were fearful, right? 

No, your muscles were burning and your hypothalamus had released a heady hit of dopamine that left you reeling from its effects. You knew you’d regret it later after it wore off, but you couldn’t help but indulge in getting a few extra hits in. He was surprisingly hardy – slipping out of your reach on multiple occasions as if he was an eel. 

And suddenly, you were in the zone; the canvas of the ring floor smelled like sweat and blood, while the artificial lights shone harshly onto you and your opponent. He was a particularly tricky outboxer: a light build but far reach, coming at you from all directions. But he was inexperienced, too focused on pushing you back to notice you feinting. 

His right side opened up as you purposefully dropped your guard on the left side of your body. As you pretended to draw back your right fist, he attempted to evade it by shifting right side forward – but that had been your goal all along. 

With your left knee pushed back in your stance, you had the momentum to deliver the blow like you’d planned. You kicked forward – boots heavy and imperfect but shooting forth like an arrow – and nailed him in the liver with your heel. 

He dropped like a stone, heaving, while you towered over his pitiful form. 

“You dickhead,” he gasped. His hands clutched at the front of his tunic, wildly directing his hooks towards you as you dodged them – you scanned the ground while you did so, searching. 

There was one key reason why you’d scoffed at the first appearance of Words Like Violence. Those feeble punches against you back then – flowery taps disguised by garish red gloves – were terribly ironic. 

There was one key reason why you’d asked for tape instead of gloves. 

What was your nickname from back then?

None-hit wonder? Sandbag? Loser?

[I can see that.]

It was none of those, actually. It was ‘rulebreaker.’

You weren’t a fucking boxer in the first place. You just liked the tapes.

If a fortnight was enough to make you a boxer, you would’ve been many things. A musician, a writer, a photographer. As it stood, you never had a knack for learning the rules, especially in a sport like this one. 

Pushing him to the ground, you grabbed the object that lay next to his head. 

Five bullets. 

You straddled him sideways, one calf pressing his legs down and the other against his torso. 

The cold muzzle of your gun pinioned his forehead. 

He was riddled with injuries: holes in his face from Johnny, blood dripping from his mouth from the internal damage of your blows, and the bullet still lodged in the juncture of his shoulder. 

“If I could aim for your shoulder and hit it from several metres away while you moved, imagine how accurately I can shoot you in the head at point-blank range,” you breathed, still high from the fight and adrenaline. 

It was a bluff. You’d never shot a living, breathing human before today. How could you possibly pull the trigger, when the sight of greyish brain matter still haunted you?

Could he hear it in your voice? Could Zeppeli see it in the minute tremor of your shoulders?

“I’ll talk, I’ll talk if that’s what you want! Don’t shoot me!” he yelped, the tension of his hooks fading as he let them drop into the sand. 

I won’t be the one killing you today. 

“I’ll get to the point, then,” you replied, shifting your weight to press more into his ribs. He wheezed out – his eyes had filled up with hatred from the very beginning, and you honestly doubted you’d get any worthwhile information out of him. “What do you know about the ‘corpse’ you mentioned earlier?”

The hatred shifted to mania, and you could feel laughter building up in the shake of his chest. 

“If you’re asking about that, you’re playing with things way past your league–” he coughed, blood splattering on your trousers. “–and you’re begging to get killed. You’ll die a slow, painful death if you interfere.”

“I can’t tell you anything,” he finished, grinning up at you. His eyes – they’d already resigned to his fate. Despite his immaturity, the corpse had struck something within him – he was prepared to die for it. 

No matter. You’d learnt two key pieces of information. Valentine had a skilled, sizable force working for him; this guy was likely on the lower rungs of the hierarchy. Other than that, there had been others coveting the corpse as well: prospective allies. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. 

“Thank you,” your eyes crinkled as you smiled, and you could hear his breath hitch. “Zeppeli, do you have any questions?”

“I’ve come to my own deductions.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, a green sphere collided with the man's shoulder; you watched in horror as the deltoideus muscle spiralled around it. His hand jerked up, and wrapped around his own throat; you could hear him gurgle, asphyxiating and slowly turning a shade of purple that nauseated you. 

“No– don’t–”

“Step back,” Zeppeli instructed. His voice was oddly detached as he clasped your arms to help you off the enemy. Once you were further away, he turned your head to the side – his calloused fingers were placed neatly, dispassionately under your chin just where the bandanna covered it – while he slipped the gun out of your hand with the other. 

You heard the bang. 

You felt the recoil through his body. 

“You didn’t look like you were going to actually kill him,” he explained offhandedly, still clasping your chin. Then, as soon as you registered it, he let go and stepped back, dusting his cloak off. Before he fully disappeared from your side, he easily pressed the chamber out and let the unused bullets fall back into the sand, then tucked the gun into your holster. 

Those events had taken just around a minute.  

You could feel the effects of Words Like Violence wear off. All that remained was shock and exhaustion. 

The smell of iron was thick in the air. Sweat dripped down your face and added to the cacophony of odours in the air. 

And you still couldn’t look at the dead man lying to the side. 

“Let’s find Johnny,” he continued, pushing you by the shoulders after you continued being rooted in place. You couldn’t even respond – your tongue felt hot and leaden in your mouth, unsuitable for any verbosity. “Then you can explain to me what the hell that all was. You clearly knew more than you were letting on from the question you asked him.”

[He’s just around thirty metres south-east, if I hear that breathing correctly.] 

Wordlessly, you pointed in what you hoped was the south-east. Zeppeli glanced down at your hand, then steered you further left, just as wordlessly as you. 

“The body’s obscured by that rock now,” he informed you. 

“Cool,” you finally responded. “I’m good now.” 

He gave you a deadpan look, but ultimately bit his tongue at the expression you wore above the cloth. You’d seen dead bodies before – your squeamishness of blood had long been forced down – yet the quick death of the man, coupled with your immediate withdrawal of the ‘zone’, left you unable to cope. 

“So you’re good enough to explain to me what you were questioning him about, and about your Stand?” he clarified. “Man, you have no idea how surprised I was when I first saw that with the Boom Booms. I thought that was one of theirs!”

“Sorry,” you looked away sheepishly, remembering how you’d pretended not to see Depeche Mode when he’d questioned the two of you about it. It seemed he remembered suddenly too – his expression turned to one of irritation. 

“You let me think I was seeing things,” he seethed, jabbing your shoulder with his index finger. “And for what?”

“Sorry, sorry,” you repeated, scratching beneath your ear. I didn’t want you to think I was part of the attack. I wanted to heal you but I knew you’d be suspicious. What could you even say?

“My gut was right about you being a suspicious person,” he looked at you distrustfully, now that you’d roused his anger once more. It stung, more than you’d like to admit. It was a harsh reality check – being actual allies with this man was impossible.

In his eyes, you’d been dishonest from the get-go. 

Still, it’s not like he was particularly forthcoming about his identity either. That was what irritated you. 

“So are you though?” you questioned incredulously as you came to that realisation. “We’re not exactly buddy-buddy enough to trust each other like that – and on top of that, I’m divulging more information about myself and getting none in return from you two!”

“You–” he breathed, looking more and more incensed. The two of you had reached the crag, and you could see Johnny propped up against a rock on a lower platform.

“Forget it,” you snapped, jumping down the metre or so. “I’ve already agreed to give you the information, and I intend to keep my word. I should’ve been more smart about it in the first place, though, and asked for information as well. Quid pro quo.”

[If I heal him, he’ll still need about half an hour of sleep for his body’s exhaustion.]

Zeppeli crouched over Johnny, feeling his pulse and breath. “He’ll need stitches. I’ve got Zombie Horse, but he’s also internally–”

“I can do it,” you leaned over Johnny’s other side, already prepared to hit the slot machine. 

He stared at you, anger replaced by apprehension. “You’ve got a background in medicine too?”

“If science counts,” you studied his face back nonchalantly. The whirring began. 

“Science?” he echoed. You could see the gears turning in his head. As a surgeon, he would no doubt be under its influence – advancements like aspirin and penicillin soon snowballed into miraculous, life-saving treatments he’d be able to witness had he lived past the race. Your heart almost broke a little. 

“I studied chemistry at university,” you admitted. You didn’t know why. It was a pretty trivial piece of information when you mentioned it to people in the modern world, but here it could twist your words anachronistically if you weren’t careful. God forbid you mentioned something from the future that had you heralded as a witch here. 

“Huh,” he openly stared now. You could tell he was itching to ask the burning question: why the hell did you leave a promising career behind to risk your life in this stupid race?

“But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then–” Something in his expression clicked in realisation. “So, the one that was healing my leg then – that was you?”

“Yeah. How would you have reacted if my Stand suddenly popped up while we were being ambushed and I asked you to trust me so I could heal you?” you sighed, resting your hand on top of your head. “You were already suspicious of me, so the best I could do was be oblivious while not letting you fall off your horse due to your leg.”

“You’re actually more smart than I thought you were,” he remarked appraisingly. You gave him a withering glare. 

[First slot activated: Personal Jesus. Countdown has begun.]

“I’d appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut about this particular ability.” You kept your eyes level with his as Depeche Mode hummed into existence. “I mean if Johnny asks about who healed him, you can tell him, but zip your lips with everyone else.”

“May I ask why?” He didn’t flinch nor look away. 

“I’m keeping my cards close.”

“An astute answer,” he grinned without any warmth. His gaze shifted from you to Depeche Mode, watching as it floated soundlessly through the air. “You get more mysterious by the day.”

“Likewise.”

“So, this thing’s the one with the background in medicine?” he commented dryly, staring at its weird getup unabashedly. 

“I’m truly thankful you’ve got eyes,” Depeche Mode intoned flatly. “It really makes things easier for me.”

“Talks too?” His golden brows painted two peaks as he raised them in surprise. “How creepy.”

Every time you thought you had an inkling of ‘like’ for the man, he proved you wrong each time. 

Don’t waste your time on him.  

[Wasn’t planning on it.] 

You quietly propped yourself on your forearms and leaned back, feeling the sun wash over you and the sand shifting beneath your weight. Just a foot away, the methodical motions of Depeche Mode rang true against your soul; your worries dissipated as you made out the impression of healed injuries within your closed eyes. 

“Before I forget, about the thing he mentioned earlier–”

“The corpse?”

“Yeah. Obviously you don’t know, but do you think Johnny might’ve come across it?”

“I figured as much after you began asking your questions,” Zeppeli leaned forward. His elbows pressed against his knees – legs crossed and moving side to side in idleness. He didn’t meet your eyes this time; you could tell the clotting of platelets and knitting of skin was much more interesting to witness. “We were attacked yesterday. German chap, only a few centimetres off my height – I don’t know if you recall the name Stroheim, but it’s not like he left a particularly lasting impression.”

He’s dead, being picked apart by vultures in the desert as we speak. 

That went unspoken. 

“He seemed particularly shaken – only a few minutes after the attack, he said something about an arm falling out of his arm,” he continued, regarding Johnny carefully as though he was questioning whether to tell you this or not. 

You reached out to the sleeping man, ignoring the sharp exhale from before you. Two fingers and a thumb pincered Johnny’s wrist – suddenly, the skin began peeling and shrivelling back to reveal exactly what you were looking for. 

. 　⁺ ✦

(“Forgive me for being so blasé,” Dr Ferdinand says indifferently, gently turning the mummified fingers with her, gloved, own. Despite her words, her expression is one of mild awe, and you can still hear her murmurs in the quiet lab. “Over two thousand years old and still in pristine condition…”)

(Archaeology reminds you too much of her, so you keep silent as you jot down her thoughts from earlier and litter in some of your own. You don’t know much about archaeology. The finger looks purple in the fluorescent lights. You briefly wonder how it smells.)

(“Your time with the remains is almost up, Doctor,” Valentine’s aide stands upright like an Anubis statue guarding a tomb. You suppose, in this room filled with bones from where Ferdinand’s fancy takes her, it’s as sepulchral as they come. You don’t know why you’re here. You wrapped up tests early today, but that doesn’t explain why she needed an intern to come watch over this experience with her.)

(“I’m nearly done,” she carefully drops some of the skin flakes into a vial and stores it in the rack beside her. She’s completely engrossed; you wonder what it’s like to feel the same passion.)

(“Sorry I couldn’t give you a more hands on role for this analysis,” she suddenly looks at you, wearing a rather troubled expression on her face. “Even though you signed off the non-disclosure agreement, you still couldn’t experience how miraculous a corpse like this is fully.”)

(“I’m fine,” you comment blandly. Neatly, you underline the title in your notebook: ‘Sacrum Corpus’. You doubt you’ll care enough to look back on this in the future, but you mark the date anyway.)

(In a few weeks, more of Valentine’s aides will come to the Institute to negotiate a further partnership.)

(You are indifferent.)

. 　⁺ ✦

It was softer than you thought. Your inquisitive fingers poked at the flesh that had eluded your grasp all those months ago; you’d expected it to be crackly like baking paper, but it wasn’t. It had the same softness of the wrinkled skin of old people: fragile and thin and delicate.

You knew it; this was the same corpse Dr Ferdinand had examined in your future. The purple colour, the finger shape – it all matched up, and you paused in your whirling thoughts. 

“Movere crus,” you read. The Latin felt foggy on your tongue: too used to hearing Dr Amsa explain nomenclature and etymology, yet too far removed from that time aeons ago. 

“Move the leg,” he translated. “Fuck, he really wasn’t trying to screw me over when he came to me scared shitless."

“What a weird thing to make a joke of,” you deadpanned. “You think it’s a metaphor for something?”

“Could be,” he shrugged, watching you slip the mummified arm back into Johnny’s. “What, you don’t need to examine it any more? Here I thought you’d grab it and run off with how curious you were about it earlier.”

“I did forensic studies on a similar case with my superior a few months ago,” you dismissed his words with a shake of your head. “I already know what I need to know about this corpse.”

From the outside, it’s an incredibly well preserved corpse that still retains traces of vitality even two thousand years later. However, it is a strange artefact that grants mysterious powers. Under no circumstances should it fall into the hands of the President. 

“Forensic– what the hell were you?” He mouthed, openly staring at you. Of course you were strange. You were an anomaly both back here and then, your present and your future. 

You didn’t deign to respond. 

“Fine, be like that. What are you going to do now?”

“Continue the race,” you replied shortly. Johnny’s breathing had evened out, and you watched as his lashes fluttered unconsciously. 

“Very funny. You aren’t a very good conversation partner.”

Neither are you, prick.

“When Johnny wakes up, tell him to keep the arm safe and to not give it up to anyone.”

“When he wakes up? And where will you be?”

“Continuing the race?” you questioned, genuinely puzzled at his probing. 

“Ah-ah,” he tutted, wagging his finger in disapproval. Your mouth may have dropped slightly open beneath the cloth in incredulity. “You’re staying until he wakes up. I still don’t trust you.”

Asshole.  

[You can’t deny he’s thorough.]

You were too tired to argue. You knew usage of your Stand would eventually tire you out, but the fight had just exacerbated the energy drain. Instead of opening your mouth with whatever retort that might’ve entered your mind, you let your head rock back against the rough stone pillar, near where Johnny still slumbered. 

You couldn’t deal with Zeppeli on top of that. From what you had heard of him, to what you saw before you – the two personalities were completely different. You had expected him to be grim. You’d expected him to be cold and angry and heartless. Sure, he was a prick, but you saw him bleed the same red as you. 

“Y’know, I’ve thought of a different name for you,” he began. You could hear his idle taps on the rocks, then the clatter of pebbles as he tossed them across the flat peak. “Brisk-and-Irate is a bit of a mouthful, is it not?”

“I guess,” you scratched your ear noncommittally. Was he always this talkative?

“Why’d you pick that alias, anyway?”

Fast and Furious was too anachronistic but I still wanted to be funny so I picked a period-appropriate version. 

“It’s an inside joke.”

“You’ll have to explain it to me sometime.” You knew you’d dug your own grave when you nodded briefly. Fuck.  

“Anyways,” he continued, pressing a knee against his chest and looking directly at you once more. “I was thinking Mercury.”

You raised a brow. 

“You’re very quick, though I can’t see any wings on your boots,” he laughed dryly. “It’s an element on the Periodic Table, and it’s toxic. Also, your current alias sounds stupid.”

[He’s not wrong.]

Which one is he not wrong about?

“Do whatever you want,” you exhaled, tilting your head back and closing your eyes.

[Fight back, fight back!] 

Mercury.  

The sunlight shone through the capillaries in your eyelids and made your vision go crimson. 

It sounded nice – there was always a risk that came with revealing your actual name. Mercury could be the mask you slipped over it: a cover should you make any mistakes. You didn’t intend to be taken as a joke later on. 

“A pity you can’t change it now.”

“Whatever you want to think.”

[Johnny’s done – your turn.]

You let your clothes return to normalcy – the coagulated blood coating your arms to the elbows vanished, and you felt lighter, insubstantial. 

“Depeche Mode’s gonna treat you now,” you exhaled. Your eyes were still shut. This was peaceful , sitting almost shoulder to shoulder with Johnny with Zeppeli on the other side of the sandwich. You couldn’t recall the last time you’d spent time sitting with anyone like this. Not even Diya – even though the two of you were friends, there was still that work-professionalism distance neither of you cared enough to cross. And that was fine. 

You really wanted a drink. 

Maybe Vincent smuggled one into your pack somewhere, but you couldn’t get it even if you tried. Your body felt heavy – too heavy. Anything would be fine. 

“Fuck,” you breathed. Roughly, you dragged a hand across your stiff shoulders and let it drop hard onto your legs. 

On the rocks, you thought deliriously. Whiskey. 

Your fingers shook. Even after all that time, you could still feel vomit in your throat at the sight of a dead body. 

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” 

His voice broke through the dark; it chipped away at the obsidian container, and you regained your vision, even if it was only a little. 

“What– what the hell are you talking about?” you croaked. Your voice box was sore, as though you were crying. You hadn’t been, and you sure as hell wouldn’t in his proximity. You glanced at him, and you saw his hat was in his hands: casually flat against his calf as his wrist bent over his knee. He looked strange, without the shadows darkening his expression; he looked younger than his years when he stared at you unabashedly. 

“I’m so happy you saved me, my hero,” he warped his pitch into a horrid approximation of yours, dropping his hat in his lap to clasp his hands together. “Am I doing it right? My sweet prince, my darling, my moon – take me right here.”

“Gross,” you scowled. “I never said all that.”

“Oh? Sounded like you meant it, though. You’re so kind, saving others as well,” he mimicked. “Who knew you were a thespian as well?”

“Eat shit.” 

“Seriously,” he continued, ignoring you. “If I wasn’t so banged up, I would’ve knocked myself unconscious to avoid third wheeling.”

“So you were awake but didn’t help me out with getting you down from that rock?” you irritably overlooked the last part of his sentence. “Just dead weight while you weigh about as much as your horse.”

“Hey, hey! You were managing just fine, while I was still immobile from getting captured,” he insisted. “Besides, you’re not all that weak – you’ve got some strange skills, you know.”

“Stop changing the subject.”

“I’m serious – I don’t think I’ve seen fighting like that before,” he probed. Zeppeli’s eyes bore through you; you didn’t think those sharpened edges would ever soften. Even now, every conversation felt like an interrogation.

What was that ability?

[Another form of rejection.]

Depeche Mode paused. 

[You need to fight, right? At that moment, your purpose is to be a fighter – your muscle memory and thinking capacity revert to a prime state, while the key points in your body are defended more vigorously. Just like a pendulum, you’re constantly reverting back to equilibrium. You’re changing but you’re still remaining in that stasis.]

Like when my wrist was stabbed?

[Exactly. Any moves you picked up from back then will come easier as it’ll feel like you’re in the ‘zone’. Your base state, your function is simply to fight, but it won’t make up for poor stamina or exhaustion. You’ve done some endurance over these past few months due to your jockey training, so good on you for not collapsing.]

You’re… actually useful for once. 

[Obviously. I’d urge you to start routinely stretching and building up a bit more muscle if you want it to be more reliable. It puts you at a significant disadvantage of being too close to your enemy, while you still only have human speed and capabilities.]

[Don’t get me wrong, it’s still a power-up. With your experience and this ability, you could go toe-to-toe with a pro from the modern era.]

It paused, and you could feel it gathering more words. 

[In your dreams, I should be able to make a decent test dummy.]

Then, it retreated back into your sternum. Its tone seemed… almost bashful.

Thank you. 

Your chest tickled, and you didn’t quite know why. 

“That ability I used earlier makes my body experience the prime fighting conditions,” you summarised. Laconic. He could make his own assumptions – it wasn’t like the two of you were a team. 

You wouldn’t pretend to understand how his shitty childhood shaped him into the person he was today; yet, you couldn’t help but think of yourself when you looked at him. Maybe you could bond over a drink. Maybe the two of you were more similar than you’d originally thought.

“Still, that doesn’t explain that kick,” he mused. “From the few matches I’ve watched, boxing doesn’t include kicks, does it?”

Where’d I learn it? It was a front kick, designed to be the knife in your sleeve after you feinted the enemy out. Kickboxing? Taekwondo? It wasn’t like you’d won matches with it. 

If you knew you’d be stuck here, you would’ve taken all the opportunities you could. You would’ve learnt another martial art instead of testing others out: never one to commit. You would’ve pushed your time to win, rather than being a sore loser who was too full of pride to improve. 

“It’s not the ring.” 

And it wasn’t. 

“And I’m not a boxer.”

It was as simple as that.  

. 　⁺ ✦

[delusion-of-negation]

i don't really know if i can in good conscience agree with the last part, because there is functionally lots wrong with raising awareness in practice, because there's no way (especially in the culture that people have cultivated) to do it ethically, without causing a whole host of problems that we see today. so, i will give one example, there was a time a youtuber i am familiar with (as in, watched and had met) was just being cancelled for relationship drama (not abuse, i legitimately mean private relationship drama that is stupid to make public anyway), and i tweeted some basic advice in five to six tweets to him, completely without judgement or condemnation, and then later he made a video mocking the abuse he'd gotten as a result of the cancelling - it included a parody of me. took me longer than i'd like to admit to realise that i hadn't understood that it doesn't matter if you have gotten 10,000 nice messages in a day, 10,000 is and always will be enough messages to feel harassment from your perspective, and he was getting far more than that, and my thread wasn't being taken as nice messages that contrast the mean, but as additions.

there's also the social isolation that you endure next to the harassment, that isn't lessened by the fact it comes alongside millions of messages. and the fact that people lie, a lot, people get shit wrong, or teeny tiny exaggerations; really any attempt to raise those kinds of awareness will be taken advantage of as an easy way to isolate people from those who will very obviously want to isolate from somebody they think abused people, and as an extension people will then either believe everybody (and thus isolate anyone a bully or abuser asks them to) or dig for info, making personal lives of anyone accused by a bully hell in a different and similar way (still dehumanising to have people treating you like media to be analysed, and i think doubly problematic given nobody is actually a teeny tiny bit equipped to actually adequately do it, figure out who is guilty, or to do so without harming those involved, heck even the cops can't seem to be ethical in that regard). and that's not even getting to how suddenly everybody believes it's their right and moral imperative to decide what is right, who must change, what that change looks like, whether those people have met that standard, and if they deserve being put at risk and at the mercy of countless way more malicious strangers, and i just don't think it is your right to decide to sacrifice the safety of people because they haven't met your standards for being and/or changing into your standards of a good and moral person in your timeframe. there's making the polite disagreement on someone's post, and there's talking anonymously about being a survivor, and on occasion there's venting to a close friend who must be trustworthy to keep names a secret, but to make public callouts of even dumb relationship drama we usually would assume people could be chill about is dangerous, as with that youtuber and how much his whole world got turned into endless stress over that (let alone abuse allegations, a more emotive topic).

people don't even need to give a specific allegation, simply saying "they're abusive" is enough to cause a tonne of people to decide you're telling the truth, to harass the person, etc, no matter how much you say you're just trying to raise awareness and protect all potential future victims, and even when what little a person does provide seems sketchy or dubious, the act of saying so is taken as abuse apologia, and as i said, when it isn't, when people do accept the story could be less credible this time, the person either is forced to reveal a tonne of personal info, or has that info dug up. i'm reminded of the start of warmth by bastille, the "when the event happens, there is little time to think of those things that people would like to have remain private, getting caught up in the circus-like atmosphere, feeling less responsible to conventional ethical practices". i think this is simply unavoidable, no matter how much we appeal to the mob to be kind, it's always a mob, and it won't be.

i think the feelings of responsibility to strangers if a person hasn't met your standards of morality, even when demonstrable harm has occured, are not valid justification to put somebody in danger, and that is sticky because there obviously is still danger from a person who is causing harm, but that's why we have responsibility to change the systems that are there to protect people from danger, the systems that are supposed to keep dangerous people somewhere we can be sure they and others are safe, or the systems that figure out when somebody is lying to them as a way to frame an innocent person, rather than to act as though replacing those systems with mob rule is somehow better than police malpractice, when that beating will feel the same if it's a cop or a vigilante. i hugely disagree with prison and the prison systems as they stand, i think a homely environment and the focus on safety and care are essential for people, so there are ideas i have for how these systems would become something that provides that, but i am just genuinely not blinded by idealism enough to think a glorified form of gossip, especially on a huge stage, could ever be or should ever be salvaged in any way. systems can be held accountable for failure and for cruelty, that many faceless people just can't be held back by independent investigations and regulation.

the thing about "callout/cancel culture" that convinced me it's rotten to the core is the dehumanisation you face once you become the subject of a campaign like that. a lot of criticisms of callout/cancellation attempts appeal to the humanity of the subject, pointing out that it's unfair and unproductive to treat a person, a fellow human being, regardless of how much harm they've caused and how genuinely unlikable they are, like that. but unfortunately the reality of being the target of a mob mentality often means facing the very isolating and traumatising experience of realising that you've ceased to exist as a person in their eyes. you're a representation of your transgressions, an embodiment of harm that needs to be erased like a blemish, a spectacle for entertainment, a means of earning social approval by publicly condemning and humiliating you in what quickly becomes a competition to see who can strike the blow that knocks you down so you never get up again. nobody cares about who you are outside of what you did. people make mistakes and hurt one another, but there is always the capacity for change, for regret and reparations. you are an irredeemable monster. you can't change. the only way to make sure you can't cause harm ever again is to neutralise you entirely. to drive you off and hurt you so badly that you never consider coming back. and it often succeeds. but it doesn't make the world a better or safer place. it just tells everyone that certain behaviours will be punished, so you should conceal them, and harshly condemn them in others so that everyone knows where you stand; nobody will stand up for you if you're accused and brought out for judgement, so you shouldn't trust anyone, and always be on the lookout to take them down before they can do the same to you. you're not creating a safe, welcoming community. you're creating a panopticon built on fear and punishment.

[ptergwen]

favorite crime

w/c: 1.6k

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood / death, lots n lots of angst

summary: you convince peter to go on the run after he’s framed for murdering mysterio, but he doesn’t want to drag you into his mess

a/n: this was completely based off the song by olivia lfmbsjfhs it’s so beautiful and i’ve wanted to write something for it for a while now so yee i hope y’all like ! pls lmk what you think <3

-

“we have to get you out of here, peter! come on!” you shout back to your boyfriend and tug his hand that’s laced with yours.

peter doesn’t budge. even when your grip on him tightens, when you pull him forward with all your might, he remains stoic.

there’s something he needs to do, and he’s been contemplating it since the day he met you.

it’s time to let you go.

“please, peter. i’m begging. i know you’re tired of running, but if we don’t leave now… they’ll find you,” you desperately choke out. peter squeezes his eyes shut, dreading what’s to come. “i can’t do this to you anymore, y/n. i… i’m sorry.”

emergency sirens and flashing lights approach the old apartment building serving as yours and peter’s latest hideout. the whole world is on the lookout for him, so you two stowed yourselves away in brooklyn for a bit.

you were hopeful the rumors would pass eventually — about how peter shot the beloved mysterio and left him to die in cold blood. they’re merely talk, of course. you’d personally seen the events of that day unfold on the tower bridge. hell, your class was right at the center of them.

quentin beck was pure evil, so rotten he defamed both peter and spider-man with a charge as cruel as murder. he’s wreaking havoc on him from beyond the grave, over a complete misunderstanding that peter had nothing to do with.

beck’s true source of anger is stark industries. yet, once again, peter ended up the collateral damage.

he was deemed a wanted murderer. posters revealing his name and face were plastered up around the city, a reward even being offered to whoever who turns him in.

you’d proposed the idea of skipping town until things settled. the way you saw it, it was peter’s only option other than prison for twenty-five to life. peter was panicking and couldn’t think straight, so he went along with your getaway plan.

a few weeks later, he’s regretting it.

you’ve been the one person he could trust through this madness. you’re right there to console him, to protect him just like he does you. through sickness and health, life and clearly death, you stick by peter’s side. you left everything behind without a second thought, for him.

peter loves you more than you’ll ever fully be able to comprehend, which is why he can’t ask you to do that. this is his battle to fight, not yours or anyone else’s. his.

you suddenly freeze in your tracks, turning around to look at peter. “what are you talking about? you’re fine, pete.”

his eyes roam everywhere except to yours as they water. blinking back tears, he fixes his gaze on your intertwined hands. you notice a stray tear fall down his cheek and use one of your thumbs to wipe it away, then press a reassuring kiss to his lips. peter lets himself reciprocate momentarily before jerking back.

“please just… stop being so nice to me. you’re making this way harder than i wanted to to be,” he rasps and squeezes your hand tighter. you’re still lost, absolutely clueless about what he’s referring to.

“look, pete. i wanna hear you out, baby. but… i think it should wait until we get to jersey.” you keep your voice as calm as possible, though you’re terrified for both of you. since the feds know your location, they’ll have the place surrounded any minute.

hopping cities isn’t cutting it anymore, so you’ll have to change states this time. new jersey is next on your list.

using his strength to his advantage to hold you in place, peter seizes both your shoulders. his bloodshot eyes lock with yours. a stern expression coats his features, one you’ve seen from him yet never been on the receiving end of.

“we’re not going to jersey, y/n/n,” he declares, the sirens starting to grow louder. you feel a pit forming in your stomach. “we have to!” you immediately protest. “it’s not gonna be easy finding our way, but it’s the last-“

peter cuts you off, voice softer now. “no, no. that’s not what i meant.” he waits a beat and inhales a deep breath, aiming to settle his nerves. it doesn’t.

“i’m going to jersey. you’re staying.”

tears cloud your vision the second those words leave his mouth. you shake your head furiously back and forth, willing him to take them back.

part of you was always afraid peter would get second thoughts. not only about running away with you, about ever being with you. you’re both so young. your entire lives are ahead of you, and peter won’t allow you to risk your own because this isn’t worth a single bit of it.

he’d warned you how dangerous it was to be associated with spider-man. it’s why he held off on telling you about his alias for the longest he could. you naturally began asking questions whenever peter bailed on dates and showed up to school covered in bruises. he hated lying to you, using his stark internship as an excuse, so he finally came out and said it.

peter sometimes wonders if you’d be better off not knowing at all. it’s too late now, though.

“wait, what? why- why can’t i go with you?” you plead, peter’s fingers coming up to cup your cheek. his fingertips lightly caress your skin. “i’m a criminal, y/n. you’d be my accessory.”

it takes everything in him not to break down and sob along with you.

you lean into his palm, already missing his touch. “i don’t care... i don’t give a fuck. i just wanna be with you, peter.” peter literally has to bite his tongue to fight the urge to cry. hands grabbing either side of his head, your fingers twist in his hair roughly. “i’ll do anything, pete. i really will, i swear. name it.”

peter threads his own fingers through yours again, bringing your hands to his chest.

“i’m so sorry, angel. i never should’ve gotten you involved,” he murmurs out and pecks your forehead. “you have nothing to prove to me, okay? you’ve done more than enough. i’m gonna return the favor.”

you let out a strangled whine, your knees buckling as you come to terms with the gravity of your situation.

this is it. this is the end of yours and peter’s story.

“hey, none of that. it’s okay,” peter coos, neither of you convinced. the tastes of salt and metal flood both your senses. he helps you back up and hugs your waist, peppering your cheeks in more kisses. you’re bawling now, arms wound around his neck, clutching at his tattered jacket.

free tears escape peter’s eyes at last. “i love you. i love you so goddamn much, y/n. never forget it,” he nearly whispers. you sniffle and push your forehead against his. “i’m not saying it back ‘cuz that feels like a goodbye, and i- i can’t say goodbye to you yet.”

“it’s not a goodbye,” peter reassures you, rubbing circles on your lower back. “it’s, uh, it’s a see you later. i’m gonna figure something out and be back to you before you know it. can’t get rid of me that easy.”

that earns a faint giggle from you, peter managing a grin. you two attempt to ignore everything happening beyond these walls, only focusing on the other.

“then, um…” you clear your throat. “i love you.” his smile dwindling slightly, peter nods and meets your gaze. “i love you too, baby. you should probably get going soon.”

affirming his advice, a booming voice that sounds from a microphone commands peter to come out with his hands up.

your worry spikes, instinctively drawing peter in closer. he forces himself to put on a brave face for you.

“i’m scared, pete. where… where am i supposed to go?” you rush to ask him. “home, y/n/n. go home,” peter decides, pressing a final kiss to the top of your head. “just don’t get caught, and you’ll be fine.” carding your fingers in his undone curls, you sigh. “easier said than done, but i’ll try not to.”

you’d never pictured that the sweet boy with a heart too big and brain even bigger, who sings you to sleep even though his voice sucks and spends his last dollar buying you flowers, would be accused of first degree murder. it isn’t true or fucking fair.

what’s worse, he has to bare this storm alone now.

you lift your heavy backpack off the cold ground, slinging it onto your shoulders. peter stares out the window and down at the assembly of swarm troops crowded together.

“are you gonna be okay?” you catch his attention. he snaps back into reality, pulling your hood up so it covers your head. you’re wearing a sweatshirt of his, after having gone through all your own clothes. “i hope so. are you?” peter repeats your question. “i hope so,” you echo.

tying your hoodie strings tight, peter offers a smile. “say hi to may for me. ned and mj, too.” it’s going to be tough to face his family and friends after this. “i will. i’ll let them know you’re alright.” you kiss his cheek, placing a hand on his chest. peter lets your touch distract him from the mess he’s about to be hit with.

“thank you, y/n. i’ll see you soon, baby. you have my word,” he promises, stepping back so you two can go your separate ways.

you watch him with fresh tears threatening to spill.

“i’m gonna hold you to it. be safe, spidey.”

[snowybitch1237]

In your opinion, how long would team snakemouth + team Maki + team slacker + team mothiva last if they had to fight ghost, hornet, and hollow. How fast would the entire group get steamrolled?

Oo! Fun question that makes me think

They'd probably put up a pretty good fight! Especially team Maki and Slacker since both hit like trucks (so does Holly, but I'll get to that in a second) Team Mothiva would probably be the first to get picked off, considering you beat them twice in game, so I guess they'd be the weakest out of the four? And while Zasp is fast, idk if he's quite as fast as Hornet or fast enough for Holly's teleporting. And Mothiva is wet paper at hand to hand combat.

Kabbu's weapon being his horn is probably an issue, seeing as the siblings use metal weapons that are probably made to get through shell. And seeing as most bugs aren't wearing armor, and those that are in HK you typically beat the shit out of them until they reveal the fleshy parts (False Knight) or those with shields you have to move fast enough to get around the shield.

And Kabbu, my dear, your horn is not made of metal.

Leif has the slight advantage of using mainly magic so he can stay away from the worst of the fight (same with Mothiva, another magic user, and Yunna), but I'm not sure ice would deter the siblings too too much. (Especially if we're going with my long fic where Ghost shares a body with Radi) and idk how Vi would hold up. Probably not that great. To use her weapon she has to fling it, which means it can be broken or caught when she does so, and then she's out of a weapon.

Maki himself has the misfortune of using a piece of plastic as a sword, against three bugs all using metal weapons. Team Maki and Slacker im not gonna get that far into considering I've never beaten them.

Now to the siblings

I'm gonna go with my full grown Ghost for this.

So, the Ghost has the same fighting style I do, which is hit as fast and hard as you can, tank some hits if you have the masks. And if you get overwhelmed. Descending Dark everything.

Considering none of the Bugaria bugs have AOE spells (to the best of my memory) or at least not super strong ones, both Holly and Ghost each have one AOE spell. Hornets is smaller, but id imagine it'd still really hurt to get caught up in thread that's whipping around like crazy.

But with both Ghost and Holly being decently heavy magic users as well as melee combatants, and using both rather fluidly, it'd probably take a while to figure out the tells between a blade coming for your face or a spell. Especially if you're trying to focus on taking one of them down and the other either blindsides you or uses a spell. There's also the fact that both are tall and aside from maybe going for the fleshy part of their joints, most of their vulnerable points are above your head. Especially Holly with the missing arm.

There's also Ghost's nail arts, which if they're already really tall and probably wield a weapon taller than you, are terrifying to see, especially cyclone slash. So they could probably hop away from the fight for a moment for whatever reason, charge up an attack, and then suddenly they'd be in the middle of the fight and probably hitting sever bugs with one swipe.

Holly also has some generally large, sweeping swipes that would probably hit several bugs, as well as the ability to teleport. The teleporting and Ghost just generally being able to dash through attacks would probably throw you off pretty quick.

Hornet is the non magic user of the three, which isn't really too big of a deal cause all three are mainly melee fighters. She has the joy of setting up traps on the fly. And while Ghost can fly, she'd probably wind up being mostly airborne in this fight. With there being areas she can probably haul herself up off the ground, it probably wouldn't be too surprising for her to not be there one second, and suddenly someone is nearly speared the next second. But also it would be amusing if she could wrap her string around someone and use that to toss them, maybe to Ghost or Holly.

Both her and Holly will occasionally block and parry hits, the siblings mostly focus on trying to get hit as little as possible, and just having to deal with it when they do get hit.

(I would ramble on Hornet more but I've been largely avoiding SilkSong trailers cause I would like to go into it as blind as possible.)

Now the Bugaria bugs are probably tankier, seeing as dodging isn't an option in game and you just block hits. So the siblings would most likely have to hit, be blocked, and then move fast enough to get an actual hit in before their attacks can be blocked again. And the teams have the virtue of being, well, teams, and having stronger moves that rely on working with each other while the siblings tend to be loners and are probably more competitive with each other.

All that said, the Teams would put up a good fight! But they'd still get steamrolled faster than their normal fights. After all, this is ten against three.

But it's ten against two godlings, one with ages of protecting a dead kingdom against thieves and infected bugs that have no issue hitting as hard as possible. The other godling being born and raised and trained by the kingdoms best knights to contain an angry, bitter goddess, and even when infected, still had the strength to fight back against her.

And also against the young god of gods, who ascended when much smaller and weaker. And is also a certified gremlin.

This is all negated if someone breaks Ghost's mask and let's out the Lord of Shades. Then everyone has a whole nother problem.

[reigenhusband]

Psychic Wedding Time!

Art by @/cowboyologist

After months of holding back, we finally tied the ole knot! Me and the conman are officially hitched today September 10, 2021!

This silly little blonde anime man means an awful lot to me and its really more than I can say. These months with him have been a great help.

When I went through some of the roughest things I've ever gone through, I had him to think about for comfort. He is a little part in what keeps me going and I wish I could thank him for everything. He sparks a lot of joy so I think I'm gonna keep him!

I've never been happier and I'm so lucky to call him husband! He's had such a positive impact and I love him so, so much.

Special thank you to my friends and of course our son Mob who carried the rings!

Under the cut is a little fic about getting ready for the wedding. Thanks everyone for your support!

Reigen squinted at his reflection, dark eyes hauntingly focused on a strand of hair that didn't take to the product he put in it. A grunt of dismay rumbled low in his throat.

"Um…Reigen?" 

"Just a second, Serizawa. Almost got it."

The taller man's voice wavered but he managed to hold fast and keep his confidence. Reigen could almost hear his hands wringing. 

"Er...Well. Its just...you've been staring at yourself for a little over 20 minutes now and you haven't moved and…"

Reigen sucked his teeth and pressed his palm firmly to the side of his head. Damned strand of hair! Slick like the rest of it! Don't you know know day it is?!

"What I mean is..! Are you alright?" Serizawa finally asked, his voice heavy with concern. "Since it's your wedding and all I figured you'd be nervous but you seem really on edge. Is something bothering you?" 

The blonde twitched.

 "W...what are you talking about? Of course not! I'm calm and-" He stopped abruptly and slammed his hands flat on either side of the mirror, his eyes wide and bloodshot upon inspection of his suit. A fleck of black thread pervaded his white vest and he looked around frantically for the lint roller. "You thought you could hide but you can't best Reigen Arataka." He muttered as he furiously went over his all but pristine wedding attire. 

His best man scratched his own cheek nervously and looked on with clear uncertainty. "If you're sure." 

Once he was satisfied after a thorough inspection and having Serizawa scrutinize the back, he dropped into a chair. Nearby was a table decorated in what was probably a thousand congratulatory flowers from clients. He exhaled and stared a hole into the arrangement of colors. His heart was pounding. His brow, coupled with his hands, were visibly slick with chilled sweat. His stomach was full of stones. 

He met his own gaze in the mirror again. He looked well kept and yet...disheveled at the same time. Come to think of it, his face was flushed the shade of his usual pink tie. The last 3 days without sleep also hollowed out dark circles under his eyes. His shirt collar began to feel more and more constricting as time went on no matter how much he tugged on it. 

Maybe he really was scared. 

He didn't doubt that he loved Mitty. In fact, he wanted to be with him more than anyone. A case of cold feet wouldn't change that. It was himself he was wrestling with here. 

Spirits, monsters, and deadly espers. He'd faced them all and came out on top. But they were nothing compared to these looming expectations to be a person to rely on. This wasn't something he could bullshit his way through. This was marriage. Mitty was going to see the warted underbelly of when he was Reigen the man instead of Reigen the psychic. His fiancé was going to experience sides of him he only revealed when he was alone. Would he still like him even then?

Reigen was good at a lot of things but this had to be the one that counted most. Could he really be a good partner forever? 

Was he really going to cut it as a husband? 

"Hey, Serizawa?" Reigen asked, not looking at him. 

The man's shoulders lurched at his name suddenly being called. He straightened his back. "Oh! Yes sir?"

"Do you think we'll be good together?" 

Silence sat heavily for a moment. Every second felt longer than the last. 

His friend seemed taken aback by the question but nonetheless looked at the ceiling as though collecting the right words to answer. "Well…"

Another moment passed and Reigen waited with his hands clasped and breath baited. 

"I've never been with anyone so I can't say for certain what a good relationship is but," A compassionate smile spread across the esper's face before he continued, visibly more sure of his words. "I think you and Mr. Mitty understand each other. You always seem to know what the other is thinking. You motivate each other to be better and you seem happy when you're together. And...and you trust each other too. And I think that's whats important." 

Reigen looked at the velveted floor. "Then…"  

"You've become more honest by being with him and he talks like you're really important to him. So please...get married if it makes you both happy! I think you can really be something!" His friend was beaming with 

what Reigen could only say was genuine assurance. 

"I really believe you'll take care of each other." 

His co-worker actually really was resourceful. Maybe someday he ought to pay him more. The uncomfortable feelings waned slightly and his shoulders slowly slacked. Mitty was waiting for him so now wasn't the time to lose it. 

After a few seconds of letting his feelings iron themselves out, he stood and smoothed his hands over his suit jacket. "Well alright then. If thats what you think then I guess there's no backing out of this one." 

Serizawa pressed his hands together in delight. "YES! I've got your back, Reigen!" 

The door into the hallway opened and a set of black eyes peered into the room. "Master, It's starting. Are you coming?" 

The jarring announcement had him scrambling to fix the piece of hair he'd been fussing with. 

"OF COURSE." He jabbed his thumb into his own chest to feign total confidence. "Right behind you, Mob!" 

He held his breath. Alright, let's do this. 

Mitty POV

Teal eyes darted around the room carefully. 

"Hey...Dimple? You there?"

The whizzing of the spirit materializing buzzed next to his ear. 

"Yeah whaddya want? You're on soon, aren't you?" 

Mitty jabbed his right hook into the air where the voice was coming from. "AGH WHAT THE HELL?"

A swift flash of green dodged his reach. 

"HEY, why are you hitting me?! You asked for ME, remember?" The ghost clucked his tongue in disapproval and floated a few inches away for safety. 

"WELL MATERIALIZE WHERE I CAN SEE YOU, YOU BIG BOOGER! I'm on edge!" 

"On edge? What for? You're the one who wanted this, right?"

"W..well….yeah, sorry." He looked at his clenched fist and opened it. "...sorry." He said again more thoughtfully this time. 

Dimple raised a spectral eyebrow. "Whats wrong? Having second thoughts? I mean it's Reigen so who can blame ya."

Mitty scowled while straightening his tie in the mirror. "Hey! REIGEN'S…." His voice softened closer to a whisper. "A pretty good guy. Get off my case. Aren't you supposed to be my support? You're being kinda harsh!" 

"Well kid, something is obviously on your mind so let's hear it. Wedding starts soon right? Yeesh. Once you do all this he's your problem forever." 

"I'm not worried about him!! I'm more worried about...me."

"About you? What're you talkin' about?! You're too good for him!"

"Thanks for the flattery. You still can't have my body though."

"Well I didn't want it anyways, ya bastard. You're weak compared to Shigeo. I'm just being honest here!" 

Silence.

"So? Out with it, What did you want anyways? You're talking nonsense here!" 

Mitty wrinkled his nose in discomfort.  "I just needed to ask something. But you can't run your mouth off like you always do, you old gossip. You're like a knitting circle."

"TCH. like I'd blabber your business to someone. It's all so boring."

"Yeah, yeah just listen, alright?!"

Another few seconds passed. "So? Say it. We don't have all day, you know."

He was looking at his hands again like he was somewhere far off. "Well. D...D'you think I'll be good at this?" 

"Good at what, exactly?" 

"Being married." 

Dimple's form rippled with thought. "You're seriously worried about that?"

Mitty was going to make a sharp remark but his head dropped and his face buried into his knuckles. "Yeah."

Dimple deflated slightly in exasperated defeat. Humans could be so ignorant. 

"Listen. That fraud never shuts up about you. You think you're not good enough? You should hear him talk. It's annoying how you both don't realize things."

"Realize things?"

He sighed and shrugged his tiny arms. "I hear everything whether you like it or not. You two idiots never stop talking and moaning about the other is too good for the other. It's getting old, really." 

"HUH? He says that? No way! But he's always beaten me at everything! I always thought he was way out of my league." 

 "Kinda the opposite actually but...sure. What I'm saying is…! You're both seeing the best parts of each other. Keep doing that and it'll be smooth sailing."

"Yeah but...what if he stops seeing the best in me?'

"You planning on making things hard?" 

"Not really. I just know I can be difficult to deal with." 

"So is he. You really think you got this far because Reigen's all roses and sunshine? 'Course not. You've seen all the stuff he does and you still like him, right?" 

He certainly was flawed, that was for sure. Mitty spent most of Reigen's antics with his eyes rolled up in his head but that didn't mean he wasn't enjoying the moment either. 

"Right."

"Then it's the same for him. Sure it won't always be fun but that phoney won't give up on you just because you're annoying. He's way too persistent. It kind of ticks me off." 

I'm annoying???  That stung but he shook it off.

Reigen was going to have to deal with him for the rest of his life once they said the right words. But if Dimple was right...would it be so bad to annoy each other for the rest of their lives if the other was willing to put up with it? 

Reigen seemed okay with it so far. Mitty would just have to listen to him make a fuss about his coffee table clutter until he died. But really, he wouldn't have that any other way. His voice was kind of cute when he hit that inhuman octave he had when he was in disbelief. 

The door from the hall swung open and a blond clad in what was perhaps the most blinding and loud suit he had ever seen poked his head in. 

"Oh, You're still in here? It's bad luck to be late on your wedding day! Master Reigen is waiting. " He cocked his head to the side. "Or did you need some help with your suit? Its looking a little plain." 

Hanazawa. This kid would try to accessorize his suit in the worst way possible. He put up his hands to wave him off. 

"N-nah, kiddo that's alright. I'll be right there."

Hanazawa, after a few more attempts to get Mitty to let him help retreated back into the hallway. When it was quiet again he eyed Dimple. He was abrasive and unpleasant. He always had a motive for everything and rarely had something nice to say. 

But he came through when it mattered. 

"Hey Dimple?" 

"Yeah? What is it?" 

"Thanks." 

Dimple wouldn't meet his eyes and levitated towards the hall. He didn't want to acknowledge he was helping, he supposed. It was in character for that tsundere blob.

"You ought to get out of here now if you wanna make it on time." 

He stood and dusted himself off. 

"Welp. Here goes everything."

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Let’s say England has a long-term girlfriend he knows isn’t the biggest fan of marriage bc her family had been really really pushy (before she got the heck out of dodge) about her marrying + reproducing ASAP. How might he react if she came to him and said she was kinda starting to like the general concept of marrying him — that is, the whole ‘together forever’ bit. Thanks!

I confess darling that I have been trying to finish this prompt for well over a year, and I offer my sincerest apologies that it’s taken me this long to finish it. Still, despite my tardiness, I hope you enjoy, and I thank you for your patience with me.

You had never intended to fall in love, not with the constant push of your relatives to fall in line like a perfect child.

First, marriage to someone they deemed acceptable, raising the perfect 2.5 children, followed by quietly settling into parenthood and complaisant contentment until the day you last drew breath.

Truth of the matter was, you had avoided all chances of romance for the first few years after you moved away from home, carefully slipping away from anyone who seemed remotely interested in you.

You knew your folks would have disproved such behaviour had they learnt the truth, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to care. You had your own dreams to pursue, your own story to tell, your own life to live; you didn't need someone by your side to feel complete.

You were happy as you were, finding enjoyment in your work and figuring out your place in the world.

You didn’t need, or frankly want, anything more than that.

That was of course until you met him.

Falling in love with Arthur Kirkland had been a complete accident. He slipped past all of your defenses and took up residence in your heart as if he had always belonged there.

It started out slow enough; at first you simply knew him as a familiar face from the cafe in Waterstones, steaming cup of Darjeeling and a chocolate croissant sitting forgotten on the table in front of him, always too focused on his reading to pay any attention to the outside world. After one particularly crowded Sunday afternoon, he began to transition into your favorite dining companion, the two of you often taking turns paying for each other’s food. Slowly but surely, you began forgetting about your books, too wrapped up in conversation, and before you knew it-

You had come to love every part of him- the gentleman that you begrudgingly introduced to your parents, the rebellious and passionate activist, the cocky and playful little shit who had long ago memorised all the best ways to disarm you, and the ancient soul who cared so deeply, who still stretched himself thin most days in effort to protect each of his loved ones.

You fell in love with his voice, whispering sonnets and sonatas and sweet nothings in your ear while his arms cradled you from behind.

You fell in love with his eyes, still losing your footing sometimes when the light caught them just right, dreaming momentarily of summer forests and grassy glades and the misty dews of spring.

You fell in love with his smiles, from the satisfied grin at stirring up Peter’s ire to the breathless wonder each time you kissed or complimented him, to the bright, beautiful, blinding smile he wore when he was incandescently happy, his entire countenance iridescent from his joy.

You loved him completely- for his devotion, for his sweet gestures, for his damned impishness, for his wit, his sass, and the soft spoken affection.

You loved him: for his patience, for his recklessness, for his resilience, for his possessive pride that was somehow more charming than alarming.

He was unique, an enigma that, even after having lived together for years and dating even longer, kept you on your toes, his energy and random spouts of spontaneity proving to you that, even if you spent one hundred lifetimes with him, he would always remain a puzzle you would never fully solve.

And by God did you want to.

Arthur had stolen your heart away from you before you had even noticed he was close enough to take it, offering his own in its stead.

You had remained reluctant, confided in him your fears about settling down, how much you dreaded becoming trapped in a monotonous rut of tedium. He was quick to reassure you, showing through words and actions far more impassioned and teasing than he had ever shown prior, that an eternity with him could never be boring.

Even on quiet days, like today, with a steady drizzle painting the world in greys, Arthur humming quietly while adding another patch to his denim vest, and no other disturbance apart from the cat’s chittering at the robins playing in a puddle by the iron fence- Even now, you weren’t so much bored as you were pensive.

You had been thinking about a future with him a lot in the past few days, some irrelevant ad on your mobile about wedding venues catching your attention and slithering into the back of your mind.

What kind of wedding would he like? Would Arthur prefer something small and intimate, or would his hubris crave a larger venue, giving him yet another chance to prove to the world that he belonged at your side, no one else?  You couldn’t help but wonder if he would wear his uniform or a suit, if he would leave the rats' nest he called a hairstyle untouched, or if he would perhaps slick it back in that way that somehow made the normal rakishness disappear, a confident, refined cavalier standing in his place.

You knew of course that none of this mattered unless you actually talked to him first; as far as you were aware, he was content with the current arrangement, and he respected your views of marriage.

He had known, for a long time, just where the grim outlook stemmed from, and he never breached the subject again.

But now-

You had thought it was enough to hold his love, his faith, his vulnerabilities. But life was so fleeting, and now those few things were no longer enough.

You wanted to wake up every morning next to him, wanted the cheesy partners’ towel and flip flop sets. You wanted the physical reminder that you held his heart, the comforting reminder that he completely possessed your own. You wanted to be by his side forever, holding his hand through the good and the ill, facing new worlds and challenges and the uncertain future together.

You knew the risks, of course.

Marriage to a Nation carried an even heavier burden than the simple oath of “till death do us part.”

No, marrying Arthur would mean weaving your entire lives together, binding you on a spiritual level far surpassing mortality; it would mean sacrificing your chance to ever grow old, to eternally give yourself away: heart, mind, body, and soul.

But this was Arthur, who sang showtunes in the shower, who spent hours making silly faces at the cat, who was ridiculously competitive about Halloween costumes, the man who sat down and memorised the entirety of The Tempest in one night just for the bragging rights.

He already owned your heart, constantly invaded your thoughts and daydreams, and God knew he had long, long ago claimed your body, making certain not a single millimeter of his new territory went unexplored.

Would it really be so bad to give him your soul, too?

Glancing back up, seeing his eyes narrowed in concentration, his fingers handling the needle with expert precision, lips slightly parted, reading glasses fallen halfway down his nose-

You knew your answer.

It was always going to be Arthur for you, only Arthur.

Forever, should he have you.

But now you faced the challenge of telling him that.

It should be simple enough; you really held no more secrets from him, and he no longer bothered trying to hide anything from you. You loved how open you were with one another, cherished the honesty that served as the very foundation to your relationship.

But the truth was that you were terrified.

It had been so long since either of you had spoken of marriage, since the topic was even a thought in your minds, and-

What if he didn't want you anymore?

What if he-

"I can see the steam coming outta your ears."

The unexpected presence of Arthur's voice startled you, eyes darting back over to the very man who was unwittingly tormenting you.

He had barely moved from his earlier position, though his glasses had been pushed up into his hair and he was studying you curiously, if not bemusedly.

"You good there?"

By default, you nearly responded with an affirmative, some playful, lighthearted thing that would have dismissed his concern immediately. You cut yourself off mid-start, then, while shifting to sit properly in the armchair, you decided to push forward. "Can we talk?"

You watched as his expression shifted, revealing his concern as he tied off his thread, setting aside the patchwork and gestured for you to join him on the sofa.

There were a few awkward moments where you took up your favourite positions, Arthur tossing an afghan across the pair of you despite your insistence that you didn't need one, the flicker of a grin as you begrudgingly thanked him, and then shifting around as you both got comfortable, but soon enough-

"Alright, now; talketh at-eth me."

It was impossible to fight the smile his choice of words triggered, a reference to an inside joke so old now that you could scarcely recall its origin. Seeming to deem it a success, his own soft, reassuring smile greeted you.

"Seriously though, luv-" His hand came to rest atop your own, his fingers gently tapping a familiar rhythm against your skin. "What's troubling you?"

You were half-tempted to offer something short of sincerity, something innocuous and mundane that you could both laugh over and forget again within a few hours. Yet, you knew that if you didn't tell him now, didn't ask him now, you would never find the courage again.

"I've been thinking-"

"Ah. A scary premise in its own right."

"Oh, shut up," you retorted to his tease, smacking his arm for his troubles. He rewarded you with a grin, all fondness and mischief. Opting to ignore him, you pressed on, eyes downcast to avoid whatever judgement he may offer.

"As I was trying to say earlier, before I was so rudely interrupted-" The teasing fell off, and the worry crept back in. "I've been thinking. About us."

"O-oh?"

Were you not so consumed by your own anxieties, you would have noticed his stutter, would have seen the sudden tension in his posture, the fear in his eyes. As it was, you were completely oblivious to all of it, and made yourself continue at his prompting.

"I- I think I'm ready."

He mimed the word "ready" to himself, parroting it with utter befuddlement. "For wha-"

"I mean, I know I wasn't for such a long time, and-" Suddenly, you were off, half unhinged. Now that you had admitted the truth aloud, it was all rushing out of you, everything you had come to love about him, everything that-

A finger pressing firmly against your lips stopped you mid-tangent, and when you glanced up to find piercing, blazing emerald focused on you as if you were the very center of the universe, whatever remained of your ramblings disappeared entirely.

"What are you trying to say?"

A simple question, so easy to answer, yet it carried with it the weight of Infinities, demanding nothing save the truth, in its most basic state.

You were lost in his gravity, half-drowning in whatever this new feeling was. It was addicting, another riddle to be solved.

"Marry me."

Time stood still, the words weighing heavily in the space between you, now seemingly insurmountable despite being no more than mere decimeters.

Arthur showed no reaction, revealed no indication that he had even heard your plea, your query, your command, your request, and yet it echoed over and over in your own mind, the tone, the weight, the untimeliness-

Every facet- from your inflection to chosen tempo- crescandoed as an accusation, a mocking symphony that he would reject you, that you would be left with only the haunting strains of your ill-conceived proposal.

And yet-

There was a hesitation in his eyes, the face of a man who wanted wholeheartedly to believe what he had heard, but had been burned far too often in the past to dare allow himself hope.

"You-" His eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed as he studied you once more, only for the suspicion to disappear again almost immediately, disbelief swiftly taking its place. "You're serious?"

It was then that you finally read his nervousness, understood the strange emotion reflecting in his eyes.

You had lead him to a precipice, the vast Unknown before you both, and-

And he was just as fragile as you were, even if he was better at hiding it.

You gave his hand a light squeeze, hoping to ground you both, and offered him a nod. “If you’ll have me, anyway.”

His eyes flickered between your own, darting back-and-forth so quickly in search of a lie, of any doubts, of any hint that you were less than certain- yet you knew he would find none of that.

“What about your family?”

The question took you by surprise; in the moment, you had completely forgotten anyone else even existed.

You weighed his question carefully. Marrying Arthur would give your family leave to gloat in self-satisfaction, and you knew with absolutely certainty that they would hold it over your head for the next three decades. But looking into the eyes of the man before you, remembering all that you had already seen and done together, you found that others' opinions no longer mattered, really hadn't mattered in a long, long time.

“I couldn’t care less about them. Arth-”

Whatever you were going to say was forgotten as he closed the remaining distance between you, moving so swiftly that you scarcely had a moment to steady yourself before he captured you in a searing kiss, one of his most passionate by far.

Somehow, despite the suddenness of it all, the initial force, the intensity- 

He was being incredibly gentle, and moving slowly enough to almost be more a torment than a treat. Almost.

You found yourself lost in a daze when he finally pulled away, just enough for each of you to catch your breaths, just far enough that he could study you with rapt attention. You could have drowned in his eyes, endless greens magnetizing in their intensity. His hands were still cradling your cheeks, still holding you firmly in place, a not completely foreign expression creasing his features.

You couldn't quite place it, even as your memories shifted desperately in search of its mate.

"'If I'd have you?'" His words, a rhetorical refrain of your own mere moments earlier, were scarcely a shared breath between you, murmured in timbre so low it summoned a shiver. There was the smallest twitch of his lip, his head tilting ever so slightly as more of that damned deviousness made its presence known. "I fully intend to have you regardless, luv. But the formality of it all certainly adds a particular je ne sais quoi, wouldn't you agree?"

You'd be damned if he knew just how that made your heart flutter, if he knew just how much weight that reassurance had lifted from your shoulders.

Carefree, content, you offered a playful smile. "Till death do us part then?"

Arthur no longer bothered trying to restrain his smile, soft and sincere in a way that left you breathless. "I'll love you till even the stars go cold, my dear."

Thanks for reading~

[anonymousewrites]

Of Two Worlds (Book 2) Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Seal

            The Prison Realm split into more pieces, and its bindings wrapped around Gojo. He growled and tried to pull away, but a sinking feel in his stomach told him it was no use. Furious, Gojo’s cold eyes glared icy daggers at Geto, who just smirked condescendingly.

            “C’mon now, Satoru. Are you letting your mind wander during a fight?” teased Geto cruelly.

            Gojo narrowed his eyes. “So…who are you?”

            “Geto Suguru, of course. Did you forget? How sad.” Geto pouted sarcastically.

            “Your body…even your cursed energy. My six eyes tell me you’re Geto Suguru. But my soul knows otherwise! Hurry up and answer! Who the hell are you?!” demanded Gojo furiously.

            “Yeesh.” Geto reached up and pulled a thread around his stitches. The top of his head detached and revealed a curse-like brain as he grinned. “How’d you know?”

            “Anyone with sense could figure it out,” said the woman, scoffing.

            Not-Geto shrugged. “And yet no one has. Well, no one other than yourself and Gojo here.” He smirked at the trapped, white-haired man. “I have a nice little cursed-technique that allows me to hope between bodies by switching brains. Of course, it lets me use this body’s innate techniques as well. You didn’t have Ieri Shoko personally get rid of Geto Suguru’s body, did you?” He redid the stitches on his head. “You’re only considerate during such awkward moments. Thanks to that, I was able to obtain this body without much trouble. But don’t worry. The seal will be over soon enough. In a hundred…no, maybe a thousand years.” Not-Geto sighed. You know, you’re just too strong. You’re in the way of my plans.”

            Gojo chuckled. “You don’t remember? Before that body was killed by me, remember who beat it up?”

            “Okkotsu Yuuta, huh?” murmured Not-Geto. “I really don’t get what everyone sees in him. His ability to copy cursed techniques, and his boundless cursed energy. Both are results of him having to detain his loved one’s soul. Sorry to say, but…Okkotsu Yuuta can’t become the next Gojo Satoru.” He grinned sadistically and leaned in conspiratorially. “Besides, the only student of yours I’m interested in seeing is the Halfling.” Gojo’s eyes widened while the curse user rolled her eyes in what looked like disgust. “Goodnight, Gojo Satoru. Let us meet again in the new world.”

l

            “Nanami-san, reports are coming in that the transfigured humans who were waiting inside the building are now attacking non-sorcerers,” said Ijichi, looking at his superior.

            “So our orders are to end our standby and attack. This delay can’t be helped since we can only react after an incident occurs,” said Nanami. He began taking off his suit jacket. “What’s most concerning though…”

            “The abrupt appearance of a curtain prohibiting sorcerers from entering as soon as Gojo ran in,” finished Megumi darkly.

            I wonder if I could have gone through, thought (Y/N) as she pulled her gloves up tightly over her wrists. Ever since her fight against Ryo, she not only had crescent moons staining her skin but half-moons as well. But her gloves still hid them, and she was too afraid to tell anyone, so until the cloth was ripped from her hands, no one would know (Y/N) had them. No one would know another mark of her inhumanity had appeared.

            “It’s been some time since Gojo-sensei arrived. So why now?” asked Megumi.

            “Either something happened, or it was done specified time as part of a strategic plan,” said Nanami. “What we can say for sure…is that they wouldn’t move without a plan.” He turned to the students. “I’ll head for the enemy responsible for the curtains. You three do your best to rescue the civilians.”

            “Right!”

            Lunar Cycle: New Moon. Twin silvery blades shimmered into (Y/N)’s hands, and she gripped them tightly. It was time to fight.

l

            The masked curse user glanced at the clock. “I’m leaving. I have other things to attend to, and I need to change.”

            Mahito cackled. “Changing before a battle? How vain.”

            The woman raised an eyebrow. “I am wearing a sexy witch outfit which is highly impractical for a fight. And just because you’re comfortable wearing a trash bag doesn’t mean I am.”

            Mahito scowled and looked at Not-Geto. He just waved his hand. “She is needed elsewhere, and we have some time before any sorcerers make it here.” Not-Geto smirked. “And I suspect she wants to look her best for our guest.”

            The curse user rolled her eyes and tsked before walking away. Keep gloating, curses. It makes everything easier.

            “Well, she’s obviously leaving, and I’m staying here.” Not-Geto looked at his associates. “What about you guys?”

            “To avenge my brothers, I’ll kill Itadori Yuuji, Kugisaki Nobara, and (L/N) (Y/N),” said Choso darkly. “Then I’ll head to Jujutsu High to retrieve the rest of my brothers.”

            “I don’t know who Kugisaki is, but Itadori and (L/N) are off limits,” said Jogo. “We’re going to turn him into Sukuna, and (L/N)…” He frowned and glanced at Not-Geto. “Well, you need her for something, right.”

            Not-Geto nodded. “We’d lose something valuable if we were to kill her.”

            “You really think we can get her on our side?”

            “It’s a possibility now that Gojo’s out of the way. After all, her execution will be pushed through now,” said Not-Geto. “And, of course, there are other incentives, as you know.”

            “I don’t care,” hissed Choso.

            “To be honest, I want to kill Itadori and the Halfling, too,” said Mahito, grinning.

            Not-Geto shrugged. “Do as you will, but don’t blame me if anything happens when you risk yourself. I doubt Itadori or the Halfling will go down without a fight, and they’re considered dangerous for a reason.”

l

            Nanami, Ino, Megumi, and (Y/N) fought their way through transfigured humans who were attacking non-sorcerers all around. The civilians were running every which way, but the main theme was that they were getting far away from the subway.

            “NANAMIN!” A powerful shout came from the top of a building nearby.

            (Y/N) and Megumi blinked. Itadori?

            “Nanamin?” wondered Ino. Nanami deadpanned.

            “NANAMI, ARE YOU THERE?!” Itadori had no idea if anyone could hear him or his message from the little Mechamaru, but he had to try. “GOJO-SENSEI HAS BEEN SEALED!”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, as did every sorcerer who heard the announcement. Gojo…sealed? It seemed unbelievable, and it nearly was. Gojo was the strongest sorcerer. And now he was sealed, meaning the most powerful player on their side was out of the game.

            “Sealed?!” gasped Megumi.

            “You three, change of plan.” Nanami recovered from his shock and worry quickly. “We must join Itadori-kun at once. If he’s really been sealed…it’s all over. For all humans in this country.” The dire circumstances sunk into Megumi and (Y/N)’s hearts. They needed to win, to fight.

            “Nue!” Megumi summoned his Shikigami, and while Nanami and Ino raced up the stairs of the building Itadori was screaming from, he pulled (Y/N) close so Nue could fly them up.

            “Nanamin! Nanamin!” Itadori was still shouting over and over.

            “Hey. Hey, dude.” Itadori just kept so screaming, so Megumi whacked him upside the head.

            Itadori pivoted and smiled in relief. “Fushiguro! (L/N)! Nanamin! And…who?”

            “Itadori, what happened?” asked (Y/N).

            Itadori showed them the tiny Mechamaru and explained that he was helping them. “Geto Suguru sealed Gojo Satoru.”

            “Geto did it?” Nanami furrowed his brow. He died last year…

            “Technically, someone acting as Geto. Shibuya Station is in pandemonium right now. From the special grades and the cursed spirits he brought along to the curse users supporting him and the transfigured humans and civilians…” Mechamaru didn’t have to finish the statement for them to understand the havoc beneath them.

            “Then attacking from the nearby stations does indeed make sense, but in order for that to work, we must lift the curtain first,” said Nanami.

            “This is an emergency, we’ll have to multitask,” said Mechamaru.

            Nanami narrowed his eyes and looked at the students standing in front of him. “There are several things only a Grade 1 sorcerer like me can request. I’ll head outside and take care of it with Ijichi. In the meantime, I’d like for you four to do something about the curtain that’s prohibiting sorcerers from entering. Ino.” The boy jumped down. “Kusakabe and Supreme Grade 1 Sorcerer Zenin should be inside the curtain as well. If you meet up with them, please explain the situation and ask for their help.

            “Got it!” said Ino.

            “Also…I’m leaving these three in your care.” Nanami turned to go back down the building’s stairs, but no before putting a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder as he passed, a small gesture to say “Stay alert. Stay safe.” She nodded curtly. She wasn’t going down tonight.

            “Ino?” asked Itadori, looking at the sorcerer who was looking out over Shibuya.

            Ino pivoted and pointed at them proudly. (He was honored by Nanami giving him this role). “Before we start the mission, let’s make sure you understand the importance. Starting with the two problems if Gojo disappears! Number One: The Gojo family will fall from power. The Gojo family is a one-man team of Gojo Satoru. Gojo’s so accommodating (selfish) that he has saved many a sorcerer. Itadori, (L/N), you are just two of them. So, think of all those people who will become nuisances to the authorities and, in a worst-case scenario, might be killed!”

            “Our executions might be pushed through…” murmured (Y/N), crossing her arms. Gojo was the only reason they didn’t kill me for being half curse. Now there’ll be nothing stopping them.

            Megumi narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. The image of (Y/N)’s dead body flashed through his mind, and his heart clenched. (Y/N) forever missing from his life was too unbearable a thought. Silently, he vowed to himself to fight and protect her. It doesn’t matter what happens as long as she’s alright.

            “Number Two!” continued Ino. “The balance of power will collapse. There are those who have stayed in the shadows because of his existence. Curse users and cursed spirits will both make their moves. While we sorcerers are squabbling with the first issue, what would happen if we get into a small-scale war against those two groups? We’d lose! Nanami and I both think that’s what’ll happen.”

            Itadori swallowed nervously. “And if we do lose?”

            “The Age of Humans might be over,” said (Y/N) darkly.

            “So, you do get it,” said Ino, grinning. “Then let’s get to it! We’ll destroy that curtain before Nanami comes back! We’ll rescue Gojo Satoru!”

l

            A ways away, four figures stood on top of building, keeping three glowing nails safe. They grinned as they heard the pink-haired boys original shouts.

            “Did you hear that, Awasaka? Gojo has been sealed,” said an old lady, rubbing her hands over traditional beads. “Intel was leaked to the enemies.”

            “That’s good news, Granny Ogami,” said Awasaka, his large mustache bristling as he smiled cruelly. “Things are finally starting to get interesting. So…Gojo Satoru really did get sealed. How exciting. I wonder what will happen with this country.”

            “Nothing will happen,” said a tall, lanky man, standing dutifully next to Ogami.

            “We will curse and be cursed and die,” said the shorter, stouter woman on the other side.

            “Grandchildren, Awasaka, make sure you’re ready for the little sorcerers to arrive,” said Ogami. “It may take them some time to identify our location, but we must be ready to strike first when they do.”

            “Yes, Grandmother,” intoned the lanky man and stout woman, bowing to the old curse user.

l

            (Y/N) and Itadori reared back and, with their superhuman strength, smashed into the curtain. Even against their combined power, it didn’t even crack.

            “No luck. It won’t budge,” said (Y/N), shaking out her fist and taking her dagger back from Megumi, who was politely holding them for her.

            “G-Good try.” Ino was sweating at the display of pure strength from the teens. Seriously? If we’re talkin’ straight power, Itadori might be on Nanami’s level. And (L/N)…Well, even without cursed energy she’s superhuman.

            “It’s an incredibly sturdy curtain,” huffed Megumi, glancing back at where his Divine Dog was munching on tiny curses. “We have to find a weak spot and try to make a hole there. There’s no point if we can’t even get inside.”

            “What? Why?” asked Itadori, watching as (Y/N), without stopping listening to them, sliced a curse in half with an elegant arc of her wrist.

            “Because…this curtain is prohibiting sorcerers from entering. It’s a barrier. Barriers are for protection and providing cover, right? In theory, the one who cast the curtain should be inside,” said Ino.

            “No,” said (Y/N), shaking her head. “They are outside. To balance the strong barrier, there must be equal risk to them.”

            “It makes sense…But that completely ignores the basics of barrier techniques! Some crazy person planned that,” said Ino.

            “Crazy or genius? We could have spent hours trying to find the weak point,” said Megumi. “But we won’t have to know. To trade for such a strong curtain, they must be somewhere obvious.”

            (Y/N) raised a hand and pointed at Shibuya C Tower. “Like that?”

            Itadori grinned and punched his fist. “I think that’s exactly what he means.”

            “Alright then,” said Ino, stretching for a moment. “All we have to do is take out the cursed objects holding it up. We can just avoid the curse users.” He looked at Megumi. “Fushiguro, summon Nue and take us up.”

            “Right,” said Fushiguro.

            Nue picked up (Y/N) by its claws, and Ino and Itadori clambered onto its back.

            “(Y/N), be careful,” said Megumi. He knew she could fight and had grown significantly stronger recently, but he would still feel better reminding her. And after Gojo was sealed, who knew how strong Not-Geto’s associates were.

            (Y/N) nodded. “Stay alert, Megumi.”

            “Hey! What about us?!” cried Ino and Itadori as Nue ascended into the sky.

            “You two are idiots,” deadpanned Megumi, turning around.

            Itadori grumbled and pulled out a length of wire Maki had given him. “What do you guys say we try to tie someone up with this? Take out a curse user and distract them at the same time.”

            “I think that’s a great idea,” said Ino, grinning.

            “I think my arms hurt,” said (Y/N) from where Nue held her.

            She held her daggers tightly as Nue released her, and she rolled onto the roof while Ino and Itadori jumped off and wound the wire around the tall, lanky man and Awasaka. The pair sprang out of the way, but Ino took the distraction and glanced at where three nails were in the ground. Or, where one now lay. Two were missing already. (Y/N) spotted them in the Awasaka’s hands and sped towards him, but Itadori got there first, trapping him in wires. Nue held the other end while Itadori jumped off the roof. It left (Y/N) and Ino looking at Ogami and her two bodyguards.

            “Grandchildren,” said Ogami.

            “Yeah, we got this, Grandma,” said the man.

            “You don’t have to worry,” said the woman.

            “Well, then, let’s get the party started. Got to show my kouhai what it means to be a Grade 1 sorcerer,” said Ino, grinning and pulling down his beanie.

            “We’ve been recommended, too,” said (Y/N) blankly.

            Ino deadpanned sadly. “Aw, really? Well that ruins everything.” He glanced at the approaching pair and saw no cursed energy or weapons. “(L/N), help Itadori and Fushiguro. The guy down below seems strong, so they’ll need your help.”

            “Right.” (Y/N) nodded, and without any hesitation, she damn near threw herself off the roofs and dug her daggers into the side to slow herself down as she went.

            On the roof, Ogami began chanting, pressing her hands together, twining the beads around her wrists. Ino summoned his Auspicious Beasts and began his fight against the woman and man. Neither was a particular hard opponent, but they were resilient, and every time he got close to Ogami, they’d move in front.

            They’re getting battered for her. Just what is going on? wondered Ino.

            Cursed energy began suddenly flowing around the grandchildren.  “We’re all set.”

            “We know, Grandma,” said the woman as she took out two pills and handed one to the man. They swallowed while Ino sent Kaichi forward to stab them before anything could happen. The cursed energy swelled in power.

            “Toji Zenin. (L/N) (M/N).”

[aminiatureworld]

Leaden Dreams

Characters: Albedo, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 1,908

Warnings: Vague depictions of sleep paralysis

Premise: In which the reader experiences sleep paralysis

Author’s Note: First time writing Kazuha! I just finished his story quest today, so I hope that I have an okay grasp on him. Still working on his talking style a bit but I adore his personality.

Also though I experience the part of sleep paralysis where you’re awake but can’t move (can’t recommend the experience) it’s usually during the day so I don’t really experience dreams. As of such if this is inaccurate in any ways I’m very sorry.

Albedo

Albedo knew about sleep paralysis on a theoretically level, knew that it was a phenomenon that caused one’s brain to awaken when the body was still fast asleep. He’d never given the concept much thought, not any more than he might any other bit of science that remained shelved in his mind.

Now that was certainly not the case.

Albedo knew the telltale signs, the small spasms that revealed the battle between your mind and your body. Knowing that you were fighting to move your limbs, open your eyes, relax your jaw, he would always speak first, knowing that you might not immediately respond.

“It’s alright my dear, I’m here. I know it’s frightening, but I promise you’ll be able to move soon. Just focus on one thing, alright? Maybe your eyes this time, since last time you tried moving your tongue. That’s it, just one thing first. It’s always better to start small.”

He wouldn’t move from his sleeping position until you regained control of your body, afraid that a sudden touch might cause you even more distress. Keeping himself carefully pressed into the mattress he didn’t fare lift his head, for fear his face might melt into something frightening. Since he knew he was helpless, his goal became to stop things from getting worse.

The moment you began to move however the alchemist would jump into action. Turning lights on he would pick up the glass of water from his nightstand before gathering you up into his arms, positioning himself so you could listen to his heartbeat as you drank. The first time it had happened he had left the room to get the glass to soon, and the memory of you curled up desperately into the covers still tugged at him.

Albedo would then go through what you had half-dreamed with you, thoroughly debunking all the distortions of your normal life. That shadowed human outside the window was a combination of the balcony and the half opened curtains. The voices were partially his own, partially your brain trying to process your own breathing. The figure hiding behind the door of the hallway was because of the boxed piled along the other side of the wall. The people dancing on the ceiling could be fixed with a repaint. Over and over he would remind you of the fact that you were safe, that your amygdala was simply going into overdrive. Over and over he would thoroughly debunk your nightmares until once more things settled into place, piles of clothing becoming one more fabric, dressers no longer dancing as if possessed.

He would tell you to wake him up if he began falling back to sleep, determined that he should be watching over you to make sure an episode didn’t happen as you were falling back asleep.

In reality though you didn’t mind if he drifted off a little before you. His breathing was a soothing melody, his slow, steady heartbeat a rhythm with which you could anchor yourself. He was staid and sure, and that was something you grasped onto desperately, something you would never stop appreciating.

Soon enough his reasons would soothe your mind, and you’d fall once more asleep.

 Kazuha

The first thing Kazuha always did was pull the blankets over you. If the outside world was threatening you, then he’d simply block it out.

Making a cocoon around the two of you he would begin to tell stories. Fairy tales, things that had happened to him during his travels, anything that you brain might latch onto. The stories were always very short and self-contained, easy to understand, and through your panic addled brain you always seemed to find them.

Sometimes when things were particularly bad he’d softly cradled your hands, careful not to move to quickly or too suddenly in case the sensation caused you to panic even more.

“Our hands fit together so well, don’t you think? I could write a poem about them, or maybe about yours. Maybe you’ll help me with it after this is over? It will be soon dearest, I know it will.”

Sometimes he would sing little songs that he’d picked up. Usually sea shanties, their rhythm helped you, less complex than poetry, more lyrical than the jagged fear that screamed at you.

Kazuha wouldn’t ask you to share immediately. When you finally moved he would first squeeze your hands gently, kissing them before your forehead, asking if it was too hot beneath the blankets, then making sure a light was on if you needed a little fresh air.

He never acknowledged what had happened before you did, but he wouldn’t pretend like it didn’t happen either. Instead he would ask if you wanted to listen to a story or tell one. Whichever you chose he would keep holding your hands, making sure that even when he gave you space there was still something that grounded you.

Sometimes when you cried he would tell a very specific story.

“There once was a warrior, brave of heart. So brave were they that shadows tried to chase them. Someone this noble cannot exist! They cried out. The warrior must be false. We will find their weakness. However no matter how hard they tried this weakness was never found. For the warrior was truly brave in heart and soul.”

Normally you might consider such a story overdone, but in those liminal moments between fear and sleep the story format helped. This was simply a harrowing part of a story, but there would surely be a better end.

 Scaramouche

Scaramouche never thought that he’d ever sleep next to you.

Humans were loud and irritating, and that only became more true when the Harbinger was trying to get a few precious hours of sleep.

However after a particularly bad week he decided that the only solution to your terrible lack of attention was to deal with the matter himself.

He wasn’t necessarily nice about it, grumbling about your poor sleeping habits, saying that this was an awful waste of time. However the moment that panic consumed you, the moment that things started to twist around you, you felt a sudden hand on your arm.

“These idiotic phantoms are nothing. Come on, I know you’re strong enough. How could you ever let something so puny win against you.”

Though you certainly didn’t agree with him about that you had to admit it helped somewhat. Though your initial panic never disappeared, it became easier to climb out of your dreams, to see a light at the end of the endless tunnel of fear.

Every time you jerked once more awake Scaramouche let himself admit some sort of relieved satisfaction.

“You’ve done it again. As you always have. I don’t know why I bother sleeping here when you’re competent enough on your own.”

Nevertheless Scaramouche would always let you embrace him, not commenting on the tears that often accompanied you. Loosely resting his arms on your back he let out exaggerated breaths.

“Will you sleep now?”

It didn’t matter if you said no. Scaramouche would simply mutter something about bad sleep habits, but he would nevertheless stay awake.

He would always fall asleep last, even when his eyes burned slightly and his body called out for rest.

If he was going through all this trouble after all, he might as well see it through to the end.

 Xiao

Xiao saw dreams as extensions of human karma, of human wants and needs and wishes.

If a human dreamt a good wish, it was a revelation of their hearts desire. If they tossed and turned with nightmares it was their fears and shames manifesting. A dream was never just a dream, a shuffle of random events and names and faces. Dreams were alive; dreams had their own wills, all connected to the will of the human they were attached too.

Xiao loathed to see you haunted by your dreams. How could someone so wonderful as your be chased by something so awful? The little that you told your partner caused a distant sort of dread. He could never understand your fear of falling asleep, but he surely felt the dread of whether or not you might be allowed peace.

The threads that surrounded you, that surrounded all humans, always tensed when you were entering an episode. Careful not to leave your side too much Xiao would light a few candles, not too much to be jarring to your eyes, not too little to add to your nightmares. If you could only open your eyes then Xiao would pay even more attention, making sure that the dim lighting didn’t add to your distress, shifting the candles or blowing them out if need be.

Xiao didn’t talk much normally, but he would keep up a steady stream of questions in these moments, even if you couldn’t answer them. Whether you were aware of his presence, whether the window being open was a problem or not, whether you needed more light or less. He would keep these questions in the back of his mind for you to answer once you could again, not only so he could do better next time, but in case the nightmares we too close to be spoken about.

Usually Xiao would ask about them again in the morning, and sometimes you would discuss it then. Though the yaksha knew that nightmares were often the fears that humans accumulated, the curses that attached themselves to unsuspecting victims, he never talked about that aspect with you, indeed when he talked about it at all. Most of the time he would just listen, tracing soft circles along your back and down your arms.

Right after an episode Xiao would make his way over to you. Most of the time he would stay in one place while the episode was happening, near the candles or by the window, making sure he didn’t startle you anymore. Now though he might move every once in a while, or turn your head softly towards him if your eyes became fixated on one spot in the room. Always he’d go to open the window, and the familiarity of the routine became something that lulled you back into a sense of piece.

Not sleeping himself Xiao never told you that you need more rest, that you should go back to sleep. If you needed to stay up the rest of the night so be it, he would be there with you. If you were too tired and found yourself drifting off to sleep he would promise to protect you, to fight off any demons that might be lurking.

Sometimes Xiao feared that his burden of curses exacerbated your sleep paralysis. Those evenings he would wait for you to sleep before slipping away. Always he would leave his sleeve and his mask, making sure that if you woke up you would still have something of his presence to comfort or protect yourself with. Those nights he would stare out into Liyue and think about all the things that he carried with him, all the things that you did too.

Regardless of those nights he would be there in the morning.

“Did you sleep well afterwards?” He would always ask. Regardless of your answer, which he would surely pay attention to after his second question, he would stare into your eyes.

“Do you think things would be easier without my presence?”

Always you said no.

[heliads]

Sudden Changes (Part Two)

When you, an Erudite, accidentally stumble upon Jeanine Matthew’s plans, she forces you to transfer to Dauntless. Your only hope is to blend in, although Four seems less willing to let that happen.

part one / masterlist / part three

This first encounter sets you on edge. You hate to admit it, that barely a few minutes into your tenure at Dauntless you’re already convincing yourself it’s all a mistake, but that’s the way it is. This is probably how your life will be until the day you die- terrified over the smallest of incidents, sure that any small happening means that Jeanine Matthews will be sending an assassin your way. This is no way to live, but you’re not sure that you have a choice about it. No, you have no choices left at all.

It was either this or die outright, you remind yourself. Even this nerve-strained way of life is better than that initial bullet. At least now you have time to grow and at least pretend that you got the easy way out, right? However, you’re not sure where to go from now. Jeanine included no terms of service in her deal. In fact, the only thing she said was that you would have to choose Dauntless. Then again, you’re fairly sure that if this man, Four, found out what you’d seen, you’d be back in that same scared place where you started.

That’s why you were sent to Dauntless in the first place, isn’t it? Jeanine wanted you to keep your mouth shut. You’d either learn to live as a mindless, brainless soldier, seamlessly fitting into the ranks, or you’d die and be stuck as a washed-out factionless roaming the streets, with nothing to do and no one to listen to you. However, you’re fairly sure that she hadn’t counted on one of her own Dauntless leaders questioning your presence here. Apparently Jeanine’s agenda only extends so far as herself, although that’s no surprise to anyone who’s ever known her.

This man, Four, however, you don’t know him as well. You may know Jeanine, or at least you thought you had, but he is a complete blank to you. You could swear that he looks familiar, like you’ve seen his face before, but every time you comb your memories, searching for a name to put to the face, you can’t remember a thing. This is unfortunate, especially since remembering who Four is could mean the difference between coming face to face with another one of Jeanine’s guards or accidentally discovering someone who could be an ally to you.

Regardless of who Four is or what his intentions are, you can be sure of one thing: he knows you, or must recognize you from somewhere, and he’s not going to leave you alone anytime soon. Ever since that first meeting, when he’d stared at you like you were someone he had pushed to the farthest corners of his mind, sure that he’d never see you again, it was as if he had sworn to himself that he’d never leave you alone. Wherever you look, he is there: down the table in the mess hall, watching you spar in training, eyes locked onto your knives and targets as you throw. His presence is silent, and he’s about as likely to say anything to you as any of the other initiates, but it’s there nonetheless. You can’t help but feel unnerved. You had hoped to blend into the crowds of trainees, but Four is making that impossible.

So, you throw yourself into your training with additional fervor. If he’s going to keep watching you, you might as well make sure that everyone else is watching you as well. Target practice, both with a knife and a gun, comes surprisingly easy to you. Maybe it’s because they both rely on taking careful aim, having perfect balance between what the eye sees and what the mind knows to be true. It’s about as close as you’ll ever get to Erudite in this dark corner of the city that the madmen call Dauntless.

Hand-to-hand combat, on the other hand, is not your forte. Not at all. You get the drills, sure, and it’s a good workout, but every time you’re put up against another opponent it’s like you’re missing some key part of a melody, repeating the same choppy chords while everyone else is improvising an entire symphony. Your punches are solid and sure, exactly what you’d practiced, but you can’t seem to quite put the pieces together the way the other initiates can.

Maybe it’s because you’re not used to this, the abandonment of all rational thought. As you watch your opponents, you notice one common thread among all those who win: they seem to run on pure adrenaline, and even when they study their opponent’s thought patterns, they don’t get lost in their heads, moving only with the speed of their fists. That’s where you’re lacking, you suppose, you’re still trying to cling to your past. If you let yourself truly fall, you might find something other than just the rocks at the bottom.

It’s after one of these days, when you just managed to eke out a victory over a girl who’s one place away from the bottom of the rankings, that Four finally approaches you. He walks next to you, arms folded across his chest. “You know, I figured that for someone who’s so good at rifles and knives, you’d be a little better in actual fighting.” You scoff. “Thanks for the kind words. I’ll cherish them always.”

Four chuckles. “Oh, don’t take it the wrong way. I’m just wondering why someone who’s supposed to be the best of the best back in Erudite would transfer away, and especially to a place that she doesn’t even seem to like.” You freeze slightly, then keep walking, hoping to cover up your slight lapse. Judging by the sharp look in Four’s eyes, though, he hasn’t missed a thing. “Maybe I wanted a challenge.”

Four raises his eyebrows. “I can’t help but doubt that. Why are you really here?” You weren’t expecting him to confront you like this, not here and not now. He isn’t dancing around the issue, not at all. You weren’t anticipating such a direct question, and you don’t have a solid alibi lined up. Instead, you deflect, hoping he’ll leave well enough alone, although you doubt you’ll be that lucky. “Why are you so interested in my motives? Don’t you have an entire other group of initiates to question?”

Four shrugs. “All of them make sense. All of them look like they’re happy to be here. You, though, you keep backing down. You’ll be in the middle of a fight, about to win, and then something comes over you, like you regret being here at all. You’re holding yourself back, and I want to know why.” This takes you by surprise. You knew he was trying to figure you out, but you weren’t expecting such an accurate appraisal. “We all have our bad habits. I still can’t figure out why mine is worth your trouble.”

Four stops walking, forcing you to stop next to him. “You’re interesting, Y/N. I saw you before, back in Erudite. I don’t think you would have left there for a second, and you don’t like you entirely want to be here now. You could have made a last minute switch, but that doesn’t seem like you. Either you’re making a point of trying to never be true to yourself, or there’s something going wrong.”

He walks away now, leaving you stunned and staring after him. You can’t help but flash back to the look in Jeanine’s eyes when she’d watched you walk away, remembering the cold glare of a woman who would be willing to kill anyone who got in her way. If you confess everything to Four now, if you tell him what truly went down, what would happen to you? Would Jeanine find out? Would she let you live?

As it turns out, you’re not sure that you’re going to have much of a choice. You manage to scrape through the first stage of training, especially due to your skill with a gun and a knife. You were able to improve your physical fighting skills after you picked up on Four’s silent hint to be more aggressive and just go for it, and you find yourself comfortably within the upper half of the initiates. Not bad for someone who’s not supposed to be here at all.

The next stage of training, on the other hand, seems even worse than the first one. When Eric and Four explain what your fear landscape is and how you’ll be traversing it, a silent storm of dread rises up inside of you. You know what your worst fear is- being found out, watching one of Jeanine’s guards place the barrel of a guard in front of your skull. You have no doubt that it will show up in your fear landscape, and you have no idea how to explain it away without revealing yourself. You’ve been thinking of potential alibis for days, but none of them make sense.

So, when you walk in the door to your first fear landscape training session and see Four waiting for you, you can’t help but groan inwardly. There’s no getting out of this, is there? Four will know the truth, you’ll be in even worse danger than before. When Four places the needle in your neck, he must sense the tension radiating out from your every movement, because he reaches down and takes your hand. “You’ll be fine, honestly. This entire stage of training will take place in your head. From what I’ve heard, that’s your strongest suit.” Then you’re pulled under the tow of the drug, and you can spare no more thoughts towards the comforting look in his eyes as he looks down at you.

You progress through your first few fears without too much difficulty. The last one, the most difficult one to face, is the one you’d been dreading all along. The scene shifts into a familiar hall at Erudite, the one where the windows progressively disappear, as do the cameras. If only you’d noticed the way that the building practically called out for you to turn around and run. Maybe then you’d have made it out without all of this. Maybe then you’d still be at Erudite, with no idea of the thrills of life at Dauntless.

A new thought flies into your head, one calling for you to run. If you turn around now, you won’t have to see the scene over again. You wouldn’t have to know any of this, you could make it out. However, your footsteps continue down the hall, carrying towards the open door that you know will lead to the large room full of Jeanine’s plans. You’re already here, you might as well see the whole thing through.

So, you keep walking, and when the ceiling opens up before you to reveal the room you’ve seen so many times before, whenever you close your eyes, you don’t run. When the guards come over, pointing guns at your head, you don’t back down for a second. Instead, you let your fists fly out as you’ve been taught, and you take them down without another thought towards the matter. This is what you’ve been learning all along- not to regret what might have been, but to fight. You’ve always been fighting, you realize. Maybe Dauntless provided you with the opportunity to make it all count for something.

You grab one of the guards’ guns, and when you turn back around, Jeanine is in front of you. Her voice is cajoling, as if you’re one of her students again. “Y/N, what is this? Don’t be ridiculous, put the gun down.” You shake your head. “You can’t scare me any longer. You might have forced my path, but I’ve made it my own. You won’t control my thoughts any longer.” You know the simulation, you know what you’re expected to do. All the same, when your finger closes on the trigger, you can’t help but look away, unable to stare your mentor in the face as you point the gun her way.

You wake back up in the Dauntless room, gunshot echoing in your ears. Four is staring at you with unabashed horror. “That’s why you left? You found out something that Jeanine Matthews wanted to cover up?” You nod, wrapping your arms around you as if the meager warmth can stave off everything that you’d seen. “I wasn’t supposed to be there that day. She gave me a choice: I could either transfer here or die by the end of the night.”

You’re not sure why you’re telling Four everything, not now. You’ve been so afraid of letting anyone know anything about you, and here you are, spilling your entire heart out to Four like he’ll be willing to watch over it for you. However, he doesn’t look like he’s about to rat you out to the Erudite guards. Instead, he’s shaking his head softly, his face wrought with something almost like guilt. “I just- do you regret leaving? You were meant to have a strong future in Erudite, to do things that no one else had even dreamed about. Now you’re here, a soldier for the rest of your life. If you could set things right, would you?”

Your attention snaps back to him. Those are dangerous words, and he knows that. Even entertaining that thought would mean rising up against Jeanine, against Erudite and the other factions. So, you stand up to face him, unwilling to commit to anything until you know Four’s true motives. “It depends on what setting things right would mean. This is a tricky city, you know. Anything anyone says could be taken the other way.”

Four sighs. “Right. I should clarify. This city, this faction system, is flawed. You know that. There are people with too much power over everyone else, and the factions don’t account for everyone.” You stare at him. “You’re talking about the Divergents.” Four hesitates, confidence wavering as if he’s about to make the worst decision of his life. “I’m one of them.” You shake your head softly. “Even saying that could get you killed. Why are you trusting me with this?”

Four steps forward, taking your hand. “I want you to remember everything you saw in that room. If Jeanine was willing to kill one of her best students, she must be covering up something big. If you can tell me everything you remember about what was in that room, we might be able to have some leverage. Leverage can get you anywhere in this city.” You nod slowly, realizing what he’s saying. “It could make sure you stay alive, even if your secret comes out.”

Four inclines his head. He looks back to you know, eyes seeming to swallow you whole. “Will you do it? Will you work with me?” You give him a half smile. “I’m not sure that I have a choice. I’ve been running ever since I got here.” Four shakes his head. “That’s not an answer. Y/N, we could both be killed for this. If you want out, I won’t judge you for it.” Your smile broadens. You didn’t expect this generosity, not from him. “I’ll do it, Four. Honestly. I won’t back down now.” Four smiles in return, the expression almost foreign on him. It makes his eyes soften, the hard glares of a soldier gone from him. To be honest, it makes your own gaze stray on him for a little longer, unwilling to put away this picture of him in your head. “When do we begin?”

ty luna once again

divergent tag list: someone who is way too cool to be one of my fears @underc0vercryptid​